Who Shall Lead Us?

Approximate Word Count: 220,300 1995 #17
WHO SHALL LEAD US? by #17
She spoke five languages and had attended schools in as many politically diverse and tumultuous countries. She would be as much at home on a farm in southern France, the Ukraine, or the Midwest, milking and soothing a cow, as she would be in a torrid United Nations assembly bandying wits and pressing issues with a handful of world leaders, all in their respective tongues. In a world of upheaval all around her, nothing shook her -- until here where she had been abruptly introduced to herself, thrust into a startling encounter that revealed never-ending surprises of unsuspected abilities within -- abilities that she would now desperately need. She, of many languages and sobering worldwide experiences had at last been shaken, stripped, dumbfoundedly numb with disbelief.
Wilkes (#17) - 2 -Who Shall Lead Us?
Now she sat in the quiet stillness of that student filled anatomy and parasitology lab working with scalpel and forceps. She was totally absorbed in the intricate task of discovering bits and pieces of these new potentials, along with extracting long parasitic worms, from the intestinal tract of a large, strangely shaped, toothy, white-fleshed, Asian fish -- a creature that had been hauled up like a foreign inner reality, that had been jerked from its malaise, from extreme depths, by a Chinese fisherman in his junk. Now, that creature lay cold and strange before her. Everything about this class, him, had been alien and eerie and almost insane to them, at first. A teacher with a mind that blew away everybody, on a world scale. A teacher that didnt teach! He didnt lecture! He didnt use texts! He didnt give
homework! He didnt require anything!! He would only chat with them individually, ominously, about what they were thinking as they silently worked. It had scared her how easily she had slipped into these highly advanced problem solving and incredibly diverse and rapid learning labs. Paradigms and lifetimes of learning were the order of the day. Somehow he had transported them, willingly, into this same eerie and alien inner reality. A reality where all who wished it entered a dark, uncharted labyrinth within themselves and saw clearly as few had ever seen. Within themselves lay a horrifyingly complex and dormant creature -- themselves! A creature that must now be aroused and dealt with. For, quietly and imperceptably, Homo
sapiens had been evolving, since first seeking the expression of creativity and beauty in simple drawings and everyday tools, and now they were finding out how much, and how far. Encounter time! Eye to eye with the new kid on the blocka budding Homo universalismankinds new and improved, highly advanced model, replacing the old, emerging from its slumber, uncaged, stretching, rippling, testing frightening new abilities! It had given a new meaning to communication and learning. She knew where they were going. Where they must go! IN! She shivered! How could this not have been known except to so few. All those wasted years. She chilled. No! He alone was not the insane one. He knew! With a frenzied abandon, she was determined to know also, who or what she really was. The instructors curiously mesmerizing, probing voice, seemed to blend in with the smooth flow of her communication with the fish and its hoards of parasites. His constant wandering, everywhere-at-once nature, gave her the impression that he was always at her side -- which had, on occasion, led her to a somewhat amusing realization, on discovering that she was alone, addressing and conversing with some toad, kidney, or pulpy octopus. His words flowed in, Baik lah! Your work shows promise; but, alas, ma chrie, do not forget that these very worms will return to you this night in your dreams if you but fail to lightly baste the tender white meat of their succulent host with a bit of lemon so that we may dine sumptuously this noon on its
delicate flesh, hot from the solar oven. To extract the worm is one skill, but to prepare the flesh is quite another. There is more to this business, No? Take care, sil vous plat. We look forward. They talked of tapeworms, spices, music, poachers monkey traps he chucked in ponds, nice tiger tracks hed come upon yesterday, and a tumor she had located. His mischievous parting grin left her, as usual, feeling good and anticipating their next little tte--tte, an adventure in itself. He meandered around the class, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He mused about the cobras he had pursued under the dark, narrow crawlspace of a nearby classroom last week. He had made them rise, sway, hiss, spit, and strike repeatedly in the dark, as he probed them with a small six inch twig he had found in the dusty soil. The precise knowledge of their temperament was equal to the thrill of the chase, to seize the opportunity to learn! Then there was the one that bit him on the boot toe, wrapping around his leg when he landed on it, while jumping over a ravine while pursuing a band of Pigtailed Macaque monkeys he had been studying for several months. To think, only moments earlier, he had been wearing tennis shoes. EH! The line is thin, is it not. It did indeed keep the juices running. Still grinning, a voice retrieved him back into the classroom. Share the humor. He did, and they both laughed. The student, Danish, once at ease with the manners, customs, idioms, and schools of a half dozen countries, was now usually deep
in the quiet thoughts of a mind beyond its years that would one day break the silence, address the issues, and free the bonds of human degradation it had witnessed. He was now exposing a large, malignant, carcinogenic, intestinal tumor that had taken the life of the small mouse before him. Reflecting upon the mouses insistent refusal to eat anything set before her except bread, they both simultaneously looked gleefully around to another student known for his similar avid preoccupation with consuming large amounts of white breads and pastries. With impish grins and rubbing hands, they cackled, It is only a matter of time now! They chuckled and discussed the prospects of barbecuing the tiny creature on a miniature hibachi, stuffed with a single tiny leak, as the instructor walked over to the record player and announced, Harken my little maladjusted deviants of society. We have here a most singular work; originally composed for stabbing toads, that is nicely suited to extracting the tape-worm, exploring the tumor, probing the testicles or snipping the tubes. A wondrous piece indeed. He puts on a Strauss waltz. Then with renewed vigor, the class is once again quietly alive with the gay busy hum of snipping flesh, swishing viscera, tinkling instruments, and tumors plopping about on the banks of the Blue Danube or in the forests of the Vienna Woods. He continues his strolling around the class, but his thoughts escape into the Asian forests to the large seven-foot monitor lizard, full of claws, scales, teeth, hissing,
and stomping, he had wrestled out of the thick bamboo grove two days ago. He recalled most vividly that it had been impressively heavy on the hissing and stomping, especially all over his body. Liked t tore me apart, he grinned. A familiar voice wrenched him from the claw and hissing filled bamboo grove and deposited him, albeit still a bit shaken, back to civilization. A Guyanese girl, who spoke as many languages as the often chaotic countries she has studied in and had long ago determined these labs were more intense and preferable to the world of politics, was asking him in Spanish, Tell me why you are smiling? Replying, likewise in Spanish, he told her and she laughed, The day will come when something will swallow you up out there. She had painstakingly laid out and exposed the arterial system of a chicken. A textbook masterpiece. The girls work was impeccable as always. She looked up, anxious with heart racing, and blurted out, non-stop, We are going where they went arent we? Oh, forget I said that. We are not scared. Look at me tremble! Some of the others that know and are farther along say they are not coming back! But you cannot, can you? You would not exist anymore, like before! Nobody is saying anything. O, god! It is terrifying! Is it always so cold? They must have all gone through this, Leonardo da Vince and the rest of them. We will be the new ones, wont we, if we go? She abruptly stopped and calmly demanded, This is where my mother went, isnt it? He nodded ever so slightly and she took a
long shaky breath, I knew it! I knew it! You are so much alike. So incredibly different. Like they would be. Now I will go crazy if I do not find out what I have got within me and that it is really me that is in there and not somebody else! Again, calmly demanding, This is really where we are supposed to go isnt it? He gave another slight nod, and she breathed a long shakily, OOOOOOOH KAAAAAY He sighed, A shame querida mia, the world cannot see the glory you have given to this fowl. Do not despair. The day will come when they will perhaps see and feel your touch. But, in the mean time, remember to slice the ginger thin and crush the garlic before putting this marvelous creation into the horno del sol. One cannot look! The gods will understand! Melodramatically, feigning grief and remorse, he tears himself away. Staggering, he crumbles and falls, sprawling face down on the lab station of another student. The student, after only three months of English, was at the top of her class, unraveling and solving the difficult, mind-boggling cryptogram-like puzzles he often used to sharpen their logic and inference skills. Was her brilliance genetic or the end product of some intense skill-building program unknown to western civilization? Whatever it was, it was only overshadowed by the grace and beauty of her quiet calmness. These clandestine rendezvous were frequent and varied, where he would often sit and stare, as a monkey curiously observing a new object, as she methodically
worked out a difficult puzzle, leaving no clues as to her process on unnecessary scratch paper. Bursting with contained squeaks of delight, she coyly smiled as he shrieked, How? How? How did you deduce that that letter went there? and silently giggled as he examined her hair for the hidden antennae, microchip, computer terminal, or searched deeply into her eyes and looked into her ears, or picked out a hair and ran to the microscope. Now, still sprawled out, he peeps up with a twinkling grin and impishly smiles, Ni hou ma? Bringing all her cultural graces to bare, to fight off an explosion of laughter, she replies, Ho. This barrage of applied skills was both extremely exciting to her, on the one hand and a constant embarrassment on the other. That was the problem. There was so much left to the hands. Trying to convince her fingers to cooperate with the brain cells was not, at this stage anyway, bringing excessive glory to her noble ancestors. Even she was challenged, groping and wavering at times, by the magnitude of learning that went on in his labs, along with the strange and fearful challenging and questioning of everything she had been formally taught and that now naturally erupted within her. Very powerful tea leaves, these labs! As suspiciously often was the case, he magically appeared during one of these very uncomfortable groping and wavering moments when she needed the help she was too proud to seek. Still sprawled out, and grinning, he, whom she and many others
suspected kept private council with these same, noble ancestors, slipped her finger into the fishs large, visceral cavity, wiggled and twisted it about and slowly the tiny organ in question, deformed and mutated beyond recognition, rose to the surface as he whispered, Chya. Her eyes got big with a long ahhhhhs of discovery as she grasped the small embarrassing piece of flesh with the forceps and brought the scalpel into play. She was seriously beginning to wonder if these somewhat different, timely encounters into her psyche were mere chance or coincidence. But surely, what could you possibly see in the eyes, ears, or a piece of hair that could reveal so much? If, on the other hand, he could see these things, what else lay exposed? She blushed at the thought as he wandered off with that terribly disconcerting grin that sent a silent message, louder than words, into, but not violating, her carefully guarded sanctuary. We, too, can have our little secrets, no? Quietly he moved about the lab only to have his thoughts escape once again into the Asian countryside. Au Song had been catching rice rats this last week. They were in little cages, hanging from the rafters all over his Chinese farm shanty. Everywhere you looked there were plump rice rats with tiny, red, glowing eyes staring at you. They knew. Tonight was the big feast. Au Song was not only a great farmer, philosopher, and diplomat, but he could also bring out the delicate flavors of a rat. The fascination never ceased, watching him whip those ol sizzling rodents around in his steaming wok. He regretted
missing Au Songs preparation of the large python Lim and Miss Ty had caught in the duck pan last week. Not knowing about the feast, he had gone fishing way back into the Asian jungles -- well into the posted, highly restricted, prohibited, NO TRESPASSING! SHOOT TO KILLzone. But he knew guards. He had wound up spending prime fishing time submerged in the muddy waters waiting for a motley but well-armed band of C.T.s (Communist Terrorists) to pass. He could always smell them as he quietly moved through the densely canopied forests and jungles. A sense like that of his close Mosquito Indian friends in the Central American jungles tracking enemy and prey. A sense that revealed everything around him: spores, rank male territorial markings; the acrid stench of fear and the overwhelming pungency of hormonal arousal of the female of his species, made fetid and repulsive by artificial scents. More than once his nose had saved his skin. But tonight there would be feasting, delicacies and treats all around, under the dim lights of a kerosene lamp in a small, dirt-floored room surrounded by the darkness and night noises of the forest with a few choice, select friends. Close by, a students whimsical dialogue with herself was slowly tugging him back. Cant seem to find the testicles on this fish, she was mumbling. He looked down at the open cavity, bulging with many colored visceral lumps, and called across the room to another student.
The student, also multi-everything, had just completed locating the organs in question on the four fish before him when the instructors voice caught his attention. This fair wench has encountered some difficulty locating certain organs, and, as you have located all of yours, show her your testicles, if you will. Little bursts of laughter pop up around the room, catching one of those gems that occasionally materialize when diction is caught with its pants down in the anatomy lab. My, my! That did come out quite interesting now, didnt it? But, as often was the case, there were no reproductive organs, or even vestiges of worthless bits of flesh. The deductive evidence was pointing to organic phosphates and their continual use up here in the 1980s. This was even after all the deaths (mostly women and children) mass sterilizations, miscarriages, jelly babies, birth defects, and mutations he and many others had personally witnessed and investigated, while the producers, knowingly, merely stuck another label on them and passed them off as safe as mothers milk or wrote the deaths, etc., etc., off as acceptable losses. It had never really been a concern when it had only affected women and children. But when the males started becoming sterile and sexless, it then became a crisis of utmost magnitude. The resulting lawsuits and settlements, dealing only with the sterility aspect and not with the effects on women and children, might bring to question the validity of
imposing ones values n priorities upon another; in this case males over those of females. He pauses to watch another student. The girl, a Canadian who was as thoughtful to a poor beggar in dirty rags at the door as to the visiting dignitaries within, had delicately exposed the tiny fallopian tubes of a mouse under the dissecting microscope to begin a tubal ligation. She had been amazed at her new found grasp of abstract concepts and applied physics as well as her work in anatomy. It had been very unsettling on discovering, within herself, a stranger a stranger who now guided her effortlessly into depths of learning she had never known existed. At least not in her! She was now one of those students he no longer regarded as a student, but as a peer. He granted such students the dignity and respect accorded a colleague. They knew it and produced work rich in thought and preparation. Their opinions on world affairs and crises were also refreshing, revealing interesting bits of insight, as they often knew the sometimes bizarre situations and erratic individuals personally. She continued working under the scope. He said nothing; but touched the small curved uterus with a fine, wire probe. Without stopping her work or looking up at him she commented, I noticed that. The uterus branches both ways. Undoubtedly to accommodate multiple fetuses. He absently replied with a hollow, Hmmmmm . . . , and responding more to himself than to her, he quipped, Bi-cornate, for what its
worth. Sherlock Holmes would be impressed with this girls powers of observations. But then again, after over forty dissections, little escaped her. Again, not looking up, she commented, The reason other teachers are afraid of what is going on in here, in us, learning so much so fast, is that they cannot control what they do not know anything about. They do not understand that our own minds are our teachers. School only creates confusion by trying to force the mind to think unnaturally. That shuts down the learning process. In here it is not school! It is not science either, but ourselves whom we seek! But, you know that! I know where you have plunked us! I am scared but not afraid! They now fear us as much as they fear you. You can see it in their eyes. She glanced up, I think they are just afraid of knowing themselves! Its so sad. A worried questioning look came over her that only a young woman can have. The ovaries are atrophied, pausing and staring nowhere, like all the rest! For a long moment they were silent looking nowhere. What else could he say? With the class thrashing bowels and entrails about with such gusto, he thought it wise to resume contemplation. He was anticipating his daily five kilometer swim as of late, in preparation for another week on an uninhabited island in the South China Sea with a handful of students -- camping, fishing, squidding, snorkeling, and swimming to another isolated island through open ocean. They would be studying the islands giant scorpions; foot-
long, vicious, attacking centipedes; huge monitor lizards; and reefs prowled by rays, turtles, sea snakes, sharks, and other uncountable marine creatures. Their only contact would be an occasional fisherman or Indonesian pirate. He had twice untangled large, drifting fishing nets from the shafts and props of their great Chinese junk-type boats, freeing them before they broke up on the coral reefs. Free diving, with only a mask and snorkel and only working with a parang under the barnacle-encrusted hulls of these big, lumbering, wooden vessels in choppy seas, proved to be a lengthy, difficult and dangerous task, to say the least. Damned foolhardy! But, he was welcome in their waters. Right now, his thoughts were brought back into the classroom by the quiet bustle of the last of his morning classes cleaning up their lab stations. Outside they were waiting. Every day a dozen students, wanting more than the five long lab sessions weekly permitted, quietly waited. Carnivores wanting meat! They caught his eyes and fixed for a moment, hopeful. He grinned! They were beside themselves, jumping and hugging, waiting to tell the others. Extra classes would once again begin after school. These belonged to the pre-med and veterinary bunch. They would gorge for a fortnight; satiated for a short time, and then, once again, begin waiting quietly outside the classroom.
They came from over forty countries, well-traveled, almost nomadic, seasoned diplomats of the world. Kids of ambassadors, kings, princes, heads of state, world leaders, entrepreneurs, and mega-corporation officials were gathered in this Asian international school to receive the best education possible as they wandered the globe through strange lands, encountering and learning alien tongues and customs. English was the official background noise, but the kids liked the breath of fresh air, the touching with their roots that his abortive prattle in their own language gave them. On a good day, he could make a fool of himself in two or three languages. A small price to pay for turning perpetual, wandering strangers into laughing and sharing friends. He had added heavily to their already extensive programs of physics, chemistry, anatomy, biology, geology, and botany and also created year long units of anatomy and parasitology for pre-meds, veterinarians, forensic and lab technicians; total home energy life support systems and unit architecture of the future; solar energy, photovoltaics, eutectics; hydroponics, methane production, ethyl alcohol and water distillation; wind chargers; hydro and body movement generators for a start. Everything was fully integrated and applied in incredibly intense hands-on labs, jarring their imagination and interests. Oh, and not to forget, their driving passionMusic! In their short, very individual lab station chats, they talked about things important to them, like
about the Furry creatures and all their ilk, up the road a piece, and about mixing country, jazz and blues licks, riffs and runs into the musical score of their daily practice. Classical evolved!! The students ate it up. The more he gave them, the more they wanted. He felt that students with such immensely rich and diverse cultural, political, geographical, social, and linguistic backgrounds should have equally immense, rich, and diverse scientific and everything else backgrounds. A close Chinese math/scientist colleague gal hung this sign on the door to his classroom, Please to be aware that all who pass through this door enter into the powerful spell of learning and are cloaked with true knowledge and understanding! The parents, likewise, were all aware of this spell, this unusual desire to learn that grasped their children. He called it the Ghandi Factory. Introduction night for parents and instructors had the shades of a United Nations general assembly. Playing to an audience of veterans of the worlds catastrophes (famines, wars, political upheavals, repressions, exiles, genocide, social unrest, two-bit dictators, hoodlum and thug governments, economic crises, military coups, racial strife, mob violence, nationalization and expropriation of international businesses, religious crazies, holy wars, suppression of freedom of the press and human rights, literature banning, university closures, and educational censorship) was not a simple song and dance, vaudevillian, one-night stand. These old soldiers were, likewise, custodians of
the best that had survived the Spartan sword of evolutionary human conflict. They were not about to let these petty little games, that had fooled no one, interfere with the education of their children. However, these little get-togethers, usually left some newly arrived, mono-cultural, and monolingual, first time overseas, American couples in glassy stares of disbelief at the massive amount, depth, and content of the materials to be covered in his classes. Shocked and dazed they realizied their child was about to enter another world, approved, expected, and demanded by this prestigious assemblage of fellow parents now gathered in the same room. For these there was no censorship. Knowledge was knowledge. Their kids needed to know it all if they were going to step into their parents shoes, grab the reigns, rule a country, make decisions, save their skins, outwit the evil! Censorship meant death. Our unglued dispondents would leave mumbling, God, is the kid going to be surprised! -- children who were accustomed to someone else performing and providing all the entertainment-- non-involvement with themselves. So his days went, wandering and babbling incoherently, to bunches of average twelve and thirteen year old seventh and eighth graders. Children who had been thrown into situations where theyd had to rise to the occasion. He was bringing much more than was even in the advanced college preparatory international baccalaureate program for top high school students down to this level and working on getting it into the fourth
to sixth grades as well. Years later in another country, another language, he would bring it down even further, verifying that an average child could gleefully acquire skills equivalent to a college degree or two, and be on their way to becoming master craftsmen and artisians in numerous fields of necessary expression by age twelve -applied physics, algebra through dabbling with calculus, advanced literature, music, arts, incorporating everything into as many life experiences as possible. Each child is many! Of course, this was against the wishes of educational establishments worldwide. All were panicking relics blinded by the fear of impending extinction, unable and unwilling to cope with the new or different -- an awakening that brought everything from rapid high academics to even overall well-being and health, perhaps even stimulating immunity, as flu epidemics emptied other classes. Maybe this path was not breaking it down with their archaic, threatening tools of the trade that induced depression, stress, frustration, fear of failing, exhaustion from drudgery into the night, ineffectual homework and cramming with the end products of these optimum learning tactics being rebellion, drugs, violence, suicide. These were indictments to forcing children with capacities to create new and necessary worlds to remain in old ones, pulling a plow. That appears to be what school was really for now. Colleagues and parents, in awe, You have become the voice of our children, giving them hope and vision and peace and also become the pariah of doom to this sick system of
programmed, narrow thought control we are mired in. The educational bureaucracy is terrified. Its all in here someplace -- the how-toos, everything. Near bloodbaths and coronaries all the way. It does, indeed, appear that adolescence, also known as anarchy, may well be a very real, genetically social survival alarm, notifying us when we have erred in the path we are pursuing. To listen to what is not said, but thought, may indeed be a skill. No? Ahhh! But we have got ahead of ourselves. He was in general just skipping elementary, junior high, high school, most of university, and starting on the independent graduate school level. Cutting through the life-draining, choking, stagnating morass of the deadwoods, oh-so-necessary, junkies dependents bullshit. As usual, those that made a smooth and rapid transition into this level of exhilarating and eye-opening intensity, accounting for 70% to 90% of the top students, were always the female of the species. Doing it so naturally, like that was where they were supposed to be. And, as usual, the top of these being the Crossdominants. But, all were still Mother-carriers. In a nutshell, those most likely adjusting to survival on a planet someplace on the other side of alpha-centaurius. Like those thirteen brilliant U.S. students, twelve to fifteen years old, studying the above, among other things, that had showed up at his top-in-the-U.S. math/science university, back in the 1960s. All little girls! Set the masters back some. That secret sure got out. Oops! Were you supposed to know that?
Even way back here with 70% to 80% of university attendance worldwide, in all areas, being female, we still havent caught on. Anyway, that had been the tack he had taken, transporting all those who wished it into a future galactic realm of learning, far away and yet unknown. An apology is in order, as you folks up in the future will find this mundane and repetitive; as you will have undoubtedly advanced beyond Huh?; as this material was received back here in the 1950s through 1980s, among the knuckle draggers and scratchers. Undoubtedly, you will have implemented and verified that what is herein is so, as it is so. Yet, for the records, please permit this following scribblings on cave walls explanation by this primitive. When one seeks more than can be found in ones immediate circumstance -- i.e. family, clan, tribe, village, city, country, society, or race -- one will often encounter other seekers in their travels abroad. As love is blind (especially to color), seeing only the beautiful person within (genotype over phenotype), a union will result in gene migration and offspring enrichment. Here recessives and weaknesses of one are overridden by dominants and strengths of the other, and vice versa, often exponentially, and made strong in the offspring -- hence, Cross-dominants. The further this match is made from yourself the better. Seems, its imperative to escape your immediate gene pool! This bond also creates a socially diverse atmosphere where seeking is acceptable,
thereby furthering and intensifying the process, as in here. Any of the Anglo, Asian, Indian, African, or Spanish cross-unions will produce a beautiful child that, in reality, has the potential to rise significantly higher than either parent. Each cross-dominant generation equates a giant step in evolution: a lower to a higher, more diverse, form right before your eyes, like time lapse photography, and another advancing and transcending generation arises, eclipsing the old, and speeding up the maturation of Homo-universalis. These parents are, in reality, letting their children and their childrens children choose their own parents. Remember, it is the beautiful person within whom all these seek! The rubbish of seeking racial purity, Aryan or otherwise, with its continual recombining and clashing of its recessives, limited dominants, weak and increasingly defect-laden, narrowing gene pool, may not be what you really want for your kid. Marrying yourself, or too close, never went over that well in the natural survival process and equates to the maintenance of idiocy! Though, much hinged on where these stronger traits wound up. For example: it seems ones academic potential is somewhat hampered under the influence of mind rattling testosterone contamination -- the degree to which one thinks and reacts with ones testicles. On the other hand, a much higher clarity of thought is produced under the calming, fortifying, and preparatory (for motherhood)
effects of estrogen. Any superior genetic trait from either parent has a much greater chance of achieving its maximum intellectual potential in a girl child or a low testosterone male. That is, if given the chance as in here. Hence, Mother-carriers. Here our ignorance is increasingly made manifest, and is brought home with a biting irony; by our callously abandoning to a horrible suffering poverty, potentially genetically superior Anglo/Asian war babies -- especially girl children -- and returning home to marry someone as close to ourselves as possible. Course, theres some that see these little jewels and adopt them for themselves a kind of international family. But back here in the 1950s youd met a few very interesting, observant and incredibly insightfully gals that were creating their own international family: selective impregnation by genetically, racially and culturally diverse, brilliant and gentle males. Calculated and purposeful one night stands.
Building up the herd, one pop at a time!! Prostitutes to talent hunters. Preditors!! These gals were almost vampirical. Knowing the traits they wanted! Needed! Sure beats the hell out of modern sperm banks! Be interesting, a few generations up the
road apiece, around family reunion time, for any of these gals genetic contributions. All those races looking back to one common mother, alone on her throne. A priestess of sorts! A goddess, even! Before her time! Holy insight, for sure! Be surprising if any of these descendents are low academic achievers. More of this up the road a piece where
females have already now been given the power and right to activate long dormant and socially repressed genetic survival genes. In another country, of course, years, lifetimes ahead, of the rest of the dogma rabble. Without the harnessing of these capacities, there may never be a world stage; or, at the least, those not permitting their exercise will not be on it. Harnessing testosterone -- jocks into intelligent creatures -- though socially unacceptable back here, will be activated down the road a piece. Also, the expanded specifics of much higher intelligence creating labs will come into play. There will also be the drawing out of the silent and gentle ones. Those whos genetic capacities verge on the realms of science fiction and reverence. These, who never surface, but will do so in a setting that will be created especially for them and any who wish to enter. This may well be the first time in the history of mankind that they will emerge and be accepted. For unto us this day a child is born. A bunch of them! Those that saw called them the Golden Genes. Translated here into English, from different languages, for your convenience. But, amigo mo, we are once again ahead of ourselves. Returning. If the afore dealt with kids were his average students, then those that came in the afternoon, with real advanced capacities, would make believers of the most devout and dower skeptics of the greatness that lies within a child, i.e. administrators, coordinators, specialists, teachers, all. Herein lies the worlds largest
congregation of non-believers. Though many at first did, hoped, wanted to believe, those that saw and made efforts -- waves -- soon got chucked. Thus, once again, purging and purifying the righteous. Mothers already knew! In here, in this setting, their minds found peace and could stretch without fear of short-circuiting the entire neurological system of those highly trained professionals, belonging to the said congregation above, who sinned by sincerely believing that it was the students that needed the help and must be taught. Much long suffering has been endured by calm and courteous students. A note: It is on this level, in here, that the low testosterone males thrived and rose to astonishing heights. They were now permitted to use their average to above average abilities. It is psychological death to submit these, often gentle peacemakers, to the illogical forcing, manipulation and harsh penal institutional codes, meant for the criminal few, we call school! Viewed as hypocrisy! A waste! A warning! These are the ones that go over the edge. The other males are so rattled with testosterone that they cannot function. These can function, until it is no longer logical to function within the system. SNAP!! These are originally good kids until society oxidizes, erodes, and wears them down to raw. You ask, How can YOU know and be so cavalier about whereof you speak? Read on!
Anyway, whatever the reason, girls, as a whole, rose naturally to the top of this intense and thrilling situation and stayed there; acting upon an awareness trait that supplied their minds and bodies with an incredibly healthy diet. All simple
observations and deductions youd made and put together, complete with concepts, strategies, math, physics, literature, art, everything, as a small child back in the 1940s and 1950s; often in the confinement of tiny, solitary confinement closets and cells. Are you folks still out here with us on this one? You may not be ready for whats on these pages. Kids, yes! Youd tried it in the States. In the highest drop-out rate in one state. But embarrassingly rising academic skills, unprecedented student enthusiasm, mass parental support, and drug-free classes (though half of the staff were tokers) only sent the fear of Disruption shaking and threatening a regimented system of strict authoritarian and student-failing deadwood down to its Prussian military roots; becoming increasingly evident that it really wasnt in any educational systems best interests to permit learning to take place. If change happened. we was never t experience any in the public school system. Please! Please! If anybody is out there, remember these words! So, he had bid the Kaiser adieu and headed for South America, washing his hands of the whole disgusting mess. He was, by no means, alone with these sentiments.
Nor, again, back here in the 70s, was he alone, with these sentiments when dealing with local elected officials (more guardians of the public trust), whos planning boards -- developers, water, sewer, electric, banking, and contracting interests -- issued their usual flat out NO to any innovative proposals that would ease the demand on natural resources, reverse pollution and eliminate dependency upon their services. In his case, all! Deficit to asset housing: nothing entering or leaving, or contaminating, consuming, or depleting any natural resource, other than using the biological and physical laws of nature, with models for near any specific climatic zoneearthquake and high winds included, where EVERYTHING IS RECYCLED, free for the taking; one fourth to one tenth the cost, no mortgage or utility bills ever, near TOTALLY COMPLETE LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM where you personally take the responsibility for providing for and cleaning up after yourself, drop-by-drop. One drop per second, per person, of greenhouse water recycling maintains all necessary functions, went right over their heads. Huh? Decades later, after worldwide rejection you had gone from a man without a country, to a man without a world-- one would be built for that specific climatic zone and functioning perfectly for years, out of reach and knowledge of any prohibiting vested interestsStateside and, likewise, worldwide!! Eventually, as the
internet age evolved, it was put on You Tube, as silence environmental house on eight short videos and downloaded and translated around the world. All who saw,
wanted it with a passion, especially since its pretty much immune to unemployment, collapsing economies, failing banks, the depravity of bankers, depressions, debt, the curse of speculators, gouging fuel and utilities costs, droughts, air borne contaminants (smog, smoke, spores, chemicals), famines, pestilences, contaminated water and food, and this design is fairly resistant to earthquakes and floods (others much more); and, of course, theres that 20 to 30 years of money still in your pocket from just no mortgages, rents, utilities cost, ought to worth something to think about, for a start; and, as the greenhouse is not restricted to the present, Recent Cenozoic Era, geological time zone (last 10,000 years), weve been growing in every Era, back to the late Precambrian (3,000,000,000 years ago) ie. bacteria and algae. There is a startling phenomenon occurring. Daily, hourly, constantly changing paradigms are the laws of survivalcontinuing existence for ANY SPECIES! Silence is now evolving at an incredible rate, of her own volition. She is, without doubt, female. A mother with a very definite mind of her own; much like the rapid evolution from Homo sapiens to Homo universalis of the Cross-Dominant children you were working with. She is now equipped with a massive and incredibly diverse gas
exchange complex for lungs; a boggling array of filtrating kidneys; ancient apical and lateral meristems that once responded to creatures no longer existent; a miles long circulatory and complex nervous system, complete with enzymes, hormones, amino
acids, self-manufactured vitamins, complex energy producing metabolic processes-both plant and soil organisms; toxin neutralizing capacities (apparently Sesuvium portulastrum is not alone in this capacity); natural environmental regulators that beat, pulse; incredible natural defense and immune systems (some mentioned earlier); accepting only those individual seeds, among hundreds of the same species, that still carry, whats left of, those unique, original and eons tested, survival, genetic DNA diversity capacities (these precious, tiny time capsules, having been collected from near every corner of the planet); harshly testing and accepting only those survivors; those adaptor genes, with deep evolutionary roots, that still maintained records of the earths fluctuating climatic (-O to 160 degree F) and saline inundation intensities. Now progressing to 50% to 100% outside, urine root irrigation systems with month old compost toilet soil. Plants testing clean for pathogensbacterial or otherwise. The same qualifications apply for potential human crew inhabitantsunique, adaptable, rapidly evolving minds. No bastardized seeds or minds apply. Shell spit you out.
For those unique, rapidly evolving minds she imparts a very noticeable, calming tranquility as she beckonsleads in a reality time jump back 200,000,000 to 300,000,000 years when spores turned into traveling seeds, and their offspring were now frolicking and doing Jurassic things; offspring, whose ancestors would have nourished all animal evolutionary pathsincluding hominids. You were now
consuming over three dozen different species daily on your bean burritos. Arapas, chapatis, pitas, pizzas, empanadas or whatever work nicely. With all this in mind, what constitutes an organismunique in itself? Does she qualify? Are there not other species, ie, humans, with less capacities than these?! Settled!! She not only needs, deserves, but merits and demands legitimacy. On the highest levels of scientific nomenclature, let it be writ! SilenciaHabitatus
universalis. Does the Leviathan, Moya come to mind? You know, all creatures have to have ancestors. The first of its kind. Family! Roots! To you weasily,erudites out there. Get over yourselves. Deal with it. You dont have to live with the wench, who, by the way, is in the process of literally incorporating us into her metabolic processes, due to her incredibly rapid evolution!! Silencia is a creature created solely by human intelligence, logic and reason No
Bomos, Brujas, Witchdoctors, deities, schizopaths, or any other, very rapidly extincting sub-species were consulted. Integrity must be maintained! All those who are the masters, the creators of their own destinies, please feel free to enter and test the depths of your creative capacities. All in all, she still represents a more natural, than the greed, power and screwing yourself (a new species, maybe?) cash register based, evolutionary process that was to follow, and now is.
And, if you would know who is at the helm, the Pilot, of this strange creature, read on if you would dare. Perhaps, another strange creature! Oh! The much awaited results, of the now, half century long, Jingle Kids research project, ie, the Pied Piper Effect, -- those who can be manipulated to believe anything, consume anything, buy anything, and ultimately die for anything-- need no explanatory results, as they fade into extinction. None of the afore mentioned, gentle, Cross-Dominants ( Homo universalis) suffered this debilitating tendency towards being manipulated by anything or anybody. Their incredibly diverse, genetic intuitive,
survival perception capacities, almost off-world, guided them in all things, weeding out all rubbish! Now it was noon -- a time for sun worshipers to turn to their large solar cooker with salivating palates. A shrine, where a foul that had once been a textbook masterpiece now prostrated itself in curried delicacies and lay devotedly simmering in sauces of mushrooms, ginger, garlic, bamboo shoots, water chestnuts, and lotus roots. Where the flesh of a strange, toothy fish from the deep, baked reverently in aromatic oriental spices, herbs and citrus. Where the long obeisant-like appendages of a squid, octopus, and cuttlefish bowed in pious adoration in mystical, ritualistic juices. Where the bizarre rites of unusual cults came together to practice their peculiar rituals. Yea! Even here came the divinations of the Gingerbreaders and the ever increasing sect of
Pizza Mongers. They came! They came! From all quarters they came to the shrine at the end of their pilgrimage they came; to partake of the sacrificial offerings, at this, the appointed hour of revellous debauchery and savory gluttony. And, as high seer of this disgusting debacle he must, with great reservation, oversee this infamous spectacle. With resounding belches, smacking lips, and licking of fingers, he departs with that truly penitent twinkling grin. At times the sharp pains returned, shooting through his head and body, from all those beatings hed received as a child, for nearly two decades in all of those dehumanizing institutions, as they tried again and again, unsuccessfully, to break his will. It had all been a terrible mistake. Not that the state didnt, as a matter of policy, regularly place abandoned children of alcoholics in with repeated, hardened, juvenile offenders. Innocent children to be trained by these new peers into deviants of all sorts -marked, lost, and swept away into the violent and corrupt world of budding Capones, Dillingers, Eichmans, serial predators, Mansons, rapists, to even greaters. The mistake had been that theyd thrown in the wrong innocent kid. He didnt want to be a criminal! He wanted to create and invent. The beatings heated up when theyd discover his creations: on the mechanics of gear ratios, air flow, motion, energy, light; planetary bodies and their origins; genetic experiments on present and ancient capacities of life forms trapped within todays plants and animals
(genetics being a generally unknown science back here in the late 1940s), and many, many more experiments in his hidden attics, closets, and old barns. Then the rigidly strict, religious housemothers (who yielded unquestionable, unrestrained, omnipotent, judicial powers -- gods unto themselves, demanding sacrificial victims) would spew out their righteous indignation and declare it all works of the devil. They would have it all destroyed by sending in the counselors and the house fathers (mostly sadists, child molesters, rigid, militaristic, disciplinary authoritians, power mongers, manifest destiniers, and all expressing, with violence, extremely high levels of intolerance for others, or their ideas, when put in any, power over others, situation, as in here who, likewise, yielded unquestionable, unrestrained, omnipotent powers, also gods unto themselves, demanding sacrificial victims, and to whom all must worship, or else) and, who likewise, would spew out their own version of wrathful, violent, righteous Dont have to be religious to be a
indignation like all common psychopaths.
psychopath. But it sure helps. Though most possessed two or three of these sterling virtues personallysome, near all. They came to administer justice, as they brought in the straps, slats, boards, and boots -- complete with shrieks and panting. Bloody welts and cracked things were common. These guys really got it off on inflicting pain in others. Youd see kids limping, favoring parts, twitching, jerking, scarred, crippled, and hurting according to how long
theyd been institutionalized. Wound up tight. Especially for the girls in this life. Horrrible, needless, senseless suffering! All permanent, festering, eating away,
growing, killing! Scarred wrists! Lives stolen, wasted, emptied, spent and tossed off as cheap, expendable, sacrificial victims to satiate pathologically violent, sick, and crazed appetites. For him it had really gotten worse when theyd discovered any of his many treatises, not so much those on physics and genetics, but his recordings of the sickness that was all about him.1 There had been those that had seen the mistake, but, aside from a few noble valiants, could do nothing; as they themselves were part of the system or couldnt effect change against its inhuman brutal rigidness. Hed found a pencil and by age five had learned, by himself, to use it quite well, with the aid of any scarce books hed had the chance to read. Any that hadnt been burned! Through nineteen years, and as many childrens institutions, he had recorded and they had destroyed and beat; but he had kept on recording and inventing, driven by some insatiable desire to know, or something even stronger. They had been furious and violent! Little did he suspect that the forty fields he had so innocently and naturally chosen to master, as a child, would have such far reaching ramifications, when subject to his
own unabridged, personal laboratory skillsit is not what you have been taught or think is, but what in reality is; testing and proving all, in what was soon to become a gigantic, inter-connective, labyrinthine web of his incredible, expanding and absorptive mind-- -sending its tendrils, not only well into the past and throughout the present, but way, way into the future, creating over a hundred fields, many new and hitherto unsuspected; like a giant hissing vat swirling, mixing , assembling and spitting out new creatures, new species of thought (all based on sound, factual reality and reason) that would encompass all knowledge, peoples, cultures, and time itself, as he would wander the globe, absorbing and connecting; revealing to all--the most humble peasants, to the high and haughty erudites -- how little we knew of the human condition; the potential of this highly and rapidly evolving species. For there is NO ONE THING that is JUST ONE THING and NEVER HAS BEEN. Change is the hard law, above all laws. Nothing is static! Except extinction! Nothing is at it appears or ever was. To know
one day is not to know the next. All, everything, is connected. It was absolutely necessary to see who and what we were connected tothe ancient past to the present-everything, from bacteria, plants, peoples, laws of physics. Everything was a piece, a part of us: critically vital to our own personal existence as a species. You dont see this, then maybe youre the harping, mindless, extincting idiot, wandering about, crazed and
disillusioned. Gullibly having hope, faith in the unreality of idiocy? Well, there are some. At least the voices in their heads tell them its so. Making it all right, for sure. But, for this seemingly harmless quest to know the truth he must endure the beatings, by these righteous guardians of the public trust, for this blasphemous error of his refusal to accept or submit to their idiotic, psychopathic, and often, very, very sick fabricated notions, and their rabid, zealous destruction of his many creations and papers, and makeshift tools for investigation, including his furtile and futile efforts at his own rudimentary principles of mathematics text, verging on algebra to calculus concepts and beyond, with his strange notations that worked to simplify and bring into clear view the laws of the universe complete with diagrams, ratios and explanations at age eight, on hoarded bits and scraps of paper ( circa 1949); transmitting energy and particles by the spectral maze of light; time and space changing, seemingly immutable, laws of physics; and that there is nothing straight in naturetime, light, thoughtall gets bent, age 13 (circa 1954); and many more. With his piece of string, a few small pebbles and a couple tiny twigs he could calculate and prove near anything on the earth or in the sky. Probably even in the future parents and guardians of the way kids should be and think will react with equal horror and disciplinary action on seeing any child playing in the dirt with these highly sophisticated, forbidden, implements of advanced technologies that brought forth truth.
Smoking, drinking, drugs and beating children were all acceptable social mores, vices, back here in the olden times, thinking was not. This too will probably be the same, or close, for you folks up there. He quickly learned the price he was to pay for these simple childlike observations. Knowledge was dangerous as was the search for it likewise!! The price was not the fevers, sicknesses, and injuries encountered walking through a couple hundred thousand miles of swamps, jungles, forests and deserts, or immersed in oceans or muddy jungle rivers or traipsing through many strange cities, villages and alley-ways and absorbing allevery facet of life. But, he had found it necessary, by experience, to keep silent (or hide behind a guise at times) about not only of what he knew of nearly every field of science (or any other field for that matter), but also of the criminal and sick minds he had spent so many years observing, and which were still around him. Knowledge was indeed very, very dangerous!! Of all the disguises he had mastered, it had been his raising of ignorance and the fool to an art he enjoyed the most. This, enabled him to function quite naturally in educational, political, and criminal circles (often the same), where reason, common sense, and intelligence could not exist or be employed, while, amongst other things, he ferreted out extortionists, embezzlers, and child molesters. It amused him to watch their petty little efforts at deception. They made such poor, inept, bumbling crooks. Guess if
creativity isnt there, it just isnt there. The chuckles ended when he thought of the last (the child molesters), and a wave of revulsion churned in his gut. He had become again, amongst many, many other things, an efficient hunter of predators -- entrusted ones in all walks (teachers, preachers, administrators) or any that preyed upon children, women, the innocent, and the trapped; and an exposer of chemical polluters and crooks in high places. In a word - a predator of predators. He often wondered if society realized that it must bear the responsibility and consequences of its actions, or was even aware of the little known law of social retribution: unleashing one of its own creations upon itself -- those like him that had survived! Remembered! At times, things still bothered him as he was continually encountering appendages of himself, unrealized. Lately, hed tried to expel the notion of any special talents involved when he encountered and calmly deduced somebody about to end it all. Now writing it off as merely experience with having lived with and observed all those depressed and homeless kids hed grown up with and who pursued this avenue of escape quite frequently. Just knowing the signs. He had encountered them in all walks of life, stopped, played the fool and unbeknownst to them, got them involved back in life, rethinking, redirected. Hed noticed that of the many, now doctors, lawyers, and others in high or low places, they were mostly females. It was usually the good
trapped in despair at failed expectations, desertions, and desperations who took this route. Near perfect victims in our victim needing society. The evil preferred to let someone else commit suicide for them. No, the ability was there to recognize, but maybe no special talent was involved. Likewise, how did he know things? Well, that was easy. Hed just lived through a lot more situations hed got chucked into that most people have the power to avoid. Hed just experienced more of the stuff most dont want to experience. A little more of living than most. At least these conclusions seemed reasonable to him. Well, not really. Hed had to face it. It was his mind. Something was wrong! It knew things. From the beginning it had known things that couldnt have been learned. Was that even possible? It knew, wherever he looked, that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. What, he didnt know. He knew only that this was not how it was supposed to be. To have turned out? Whatever that meant? Possible or not, hed pieced, studied, and tried to control it. Through books hed met people he could communicate with in that friendless world into which hed been thrown. Friends were friends, however you got them -dead being relative -- in the light of the only reality that existed in these institutions was a sickness fueled by hatred and passions run amok.
As the books, inventions, countries and years of recording past, he became aware that he had unknowingly followed the same creative path of many of these new friends: Leonardo Da Vinci, Galileo, Archimedes, Michelangelo, Edison, Curie, Mozart, Schweitzer, Ghandi, and many, many more, without the slightest shred of knowledge of their existence until later meeting them on this path. The path appeared to emanate a quite natural, innate, powerful force that breached all societies, cultures, tongues, races, and time itself, only waiting for some new players to plug into its energy. It also appeared to work, not by genius alone, but solely by encountering; and he knew exactly where, how, and why this encountering took place, and could activate it at will. Which, of course, as experience had shown, not only him, but many others, was of no interest whatsoever to the educational establishment. It was more of a threat to their policy of keeping everybody stupid -- themselves included! Only the
perpetrators of fund generating problems complain of their resolution. Scams. Anyway, this council of friends, besides being colleagues in this madness, would mysteriously appear in times of expediency. He wondered if they had been as likewise received into this world. Maybe even also sensing that something had gone wrong! Tried to show us a path to help us return, regain. Each being a marker! But now Bindu and the Hindu, Muslim and Buddhist maintenance men would be waiting for him. The last few years, he had talked on anything they wished. A
couple dozen of them all crouched in that tiny, low-ceilinged maintenance office under the stairs every chance they got. Bindu: You are being a great mystery to all of us, my friend. We are knowing you are not who they are saying you are. You are hiding behind so many strange and curious faces. We are thinking this is to confuse all as to who you are really being and what you are really doing. Many are saying you are knowing more than one can possibly be knowing of things that one cannot be knowing. We have never met any who is everything and everyone. We are thinking you are a very clever fellow, confusing only the truly ignorant. Those highly educated they are bringing here to this very prestigious international school, as the most brilliant teachers from all over the world, but none are giving what you are giving. They are coming and they are going, as dust they are being forgotten relics. But you are giving freely to all a fire that is leading each to be seeking this personal greatness that is within. Where each is striving to be his own physician and engineer and artist and wise thinker, and who is knowing where else this path is leading; only that there is this certainty that comes with this seeking, as is surely being the case with your students and not just the teaching of science. Though even on such a high level as none before has ever been seeing. The slow also are rising with the quick thinkers, but it is the girl students to whom all look. They are rising the highest, which is not as our
traditions and our laws and our teachings are saying it is to be. Yet it is so! It is hard. I am thinking we will be clinging to ignorance as to life itself. No? And there is this calm that is coming to all who will be following this path. And that without this respecting for the uniqueness of others, we are invalidating our own, and to be following another, neither exists. This high regard you are seeing that distinguishes each of us we are
now seeing in each other. You are guided only by your conscience and reason, yet, you are being welcome in the homes of the Hindu and the Buddhist and the Muslim and the rich and the very, very poor and the world leaders, and into the very forbidden Chinese inner city itself, and other places many will not be daring to go, where is dwelling the evilist of evil men and deeds. But yet, I am not forgetting the graciousness our esteemed mathematicians and chemists and wise thinkers are welcoming your presence. We are seeing these things! Our wise men are speaking of you with the respect that is being due to one who is bringing a truth that is for all. A truth that can only be coming from one who has been drinking deeply of the suffering and the seeking. No, my friend, when one will be speaking to what we will be thinking and what we are being, that only we can be knowing, that, my friend, you cannot be hiding!
Replying, My friend, when one does not know a thing, it is a mystery, so it is merely in the knowing wherein lies the seeds of calm and a conscience, yours or anothers. But, without your own conscience, forged by the heat of your own lifes passions, and the freedom to act, which you give yourself by right of being, you are just another man.. To this end we have this unnatural fabrication of institutions (educational, political, whatever), created and protected by and for the few, to prohibit the individual from attaining their own unique entity, thus ensuring that all remain just another man, without purpose other than that of another and not robbing the few of the combined hopes of the many. He who controls the conscience controls the will of the people and the power to turn that will hopelessly against their common reason and any individual threat to the few. The people are trapped, forced to be ruled against their will, and must meekly concede to a tyranny of endless codes, doctrines, and values of others and not of themselves -- all because they do not wish to know, act; willingly accepting misinformation. You must knowingly be kept ignorant to be ruled against your will of reason. It is the individual acting upon a bit, a shred of truth, who is most feared, yet followed; weakening the bonds of ignorance, precedent by precedent. Perpetration of mediocrity is a condemnation, by fear, of what we do not know of the human spirit. For
a brief heartbeat in time, your great men were not just another man, but an individual acting upon a shred, a precedent! Conscience and reason will guide and outlast any unnatural, fabricated ideologies and permit all, as we here, to sit in peace and share our individual greatnesses that lie within each of us, we, all, each of us. As an individual we are, but united we are more. To see a fragment is not to see all. But together we can see more. Our vision is greatly improved. More peace: . . . mutually pledge to each other our lives . . .2 Bindu: You, dear friend, are not just another man! All here are wishing that it is only the best of blessings and good that will be coming to you as you are traveling this strange path of many faces. We are all praying, our wives and children too, not to our god, but from our hearts. Lee Chung: You sure strange fellow! You talk, all listen. You no talk, all listen! We same now, all different! All calm! All friends now! We like. Soon, all be strange fellows.
Wilkes (#17) -37- Who Shall Lead Us?
CHAPTER 2
You too, dear reader, were perchance deceived by the instructor's pleasant bedside manner and apparent rapport with his students? Who could suspect? Such an ingenious disguise! The clever facade, he knew it well. If they only knew - - could have guessed! Were his intentions ever really honorable, pure? At one time, surely, he must have possessed crumbs of sanity. A modicum, the barest minimum of course, you must understand. A semblance, that permitted him to mingle, unleashed, for short periods, amongst the unsuspecting, civilized community. After his escape there had been no confirmed reports of his whereabouts, so well had he eluded his captors. The whole truth of his cleverly disguised, peculiar idiosyncrasies will probably never be fully brought to light. Not in our time! generation perhaps. A future
Odd as it may seem, there were those that knew. Silently knew!! Nothing more can be garnered from them but silence. To cast such a spell! "By the gods! One would believe you are envious, Zeus?" It was the students. They knew! They knew that whatever he was, the likes would not soon pass their way again. A visitor, their personal guest, slipping out from a crack in their imagination, from another time, place, zone beyond. A secret well worth keeping. We have been fortunate - cursed is more like it - to have uncovered, by bits and scraps, the scoundrel's heinous plot. A glimpse into the very nature of the rogue. A collision with the sobering reality of what we are here dealing with. What we have exposed our children to. His trail, once recognized, was now easily followed, wreaking havoc and wanton destruction; for, wherever he went, our innocents lay burning with a fevered frenzy, gripped by some desire, entirely out of control, to seek, to know, to learn, above all else. Most unnatural! They were no longer satisfied with the proper routes and channels of questions with acceptable and suitable answers but skirted all that is civil and moral by delving and answering their own questions, paralyzing the system, threatening and undermining the very foundation of the greatest of values that we as a nation, or any nation, hold so very dear - the guided and appropriate education of our children. With flagrant disregard they put to the scalpel the very roots of values
from whatever country they came. Whacking and slicing, they cut deep and challengingly into things rich in morality, civility, propriety, acceptability, and "way it should be" ness, disemboweling long acceptable and proven handed-down things, laying bare lasting and secure things. Nay! Holy things! We now present this patchwork treatise. Those of you of faint heart or clinical disposition may wish to omit this section, as the beast will be speaking directly. Yea! Even as he spoke unto the children! "Heh...heh...heh...! Confession time, my Sweet. All along you realized it would ultimately come to this one day. Little did any suspect the seedy nature of your sordid, all consuming, driving passion had not been merely to destroy the horrid little beasties' minds, but to warp, distort, and wreak havoc upon them; creating living illusions of a twisted reality, loathed by all, as revenge for the curse that this addled, nauseating age level brought upon mankind. Such a lonely, but wholesome and glorious battle -- 'Viva la Guerre!' The Holy Quest! "You stuffed and crammed their twaddled, insipid minds beyond saturation, and callously subjugated them to the disorienting consequences of the blast and fury of pure, unadulterated knowledge and investigation. Who could withstand this intoxicant without going over the edge, and who would then listen to their blasphemous prattle? "Sacred cows were led to the pyre and closets emptied of dusty skeletons and crutches into its flames. Bridges were burned. Communications were severed forever
from past realities in hopes of exiling and dooming the beggarly rotters to themselves, without peers, now and FOREVERMORE; creating confused castaways, floating ALONE, stunned, dazed, shocked, and bewildered, trembling with helplessness and the cold sweats of banishment through endless time ETERNAL; LOST on islands of alienating, not yet existent technologies, concepts, and incoherences; ridding this generation, once and for all, of their odious, abominable presence. "Oh, the joys that would be yours! You wanted so little. No more than these few, simple pleasures. Surely, who could deny these? To have watched the pitiful, unfortunates aflame with a sickly, inordinate passion, beyond desire or lust, burning out of control, writhing in an unquenchable, parched hysteria to know, learn, seek more; and to have viewed this curse that gave no rest but drove and tormented the disgusting wretches past madness and screeching lunacy; and to have seen this you would have understood and felt proud to have witnessed and shared, and, for a moment, to have been a part. "At times, you appeared the blood-crazed, salivating madman, to the untrained eye, trampling and crushing down time honored, inviolable educational expectations and barriers and crossing sacred boundaries to violate their consecrated places with the gleeful relish of a child squishing bugs between the fingers. While, on other occasions, to watch you attack these hallowed institutions and esteemed establishments with such
nonchalance, reducing them to shambles, leaving them in heaps, would leave one to believe they were hardly obstructions at all, but some minor inconveniences to be brushed away. Good riddance to all. "What simpleton could be duped into blind faith acceptance of education's flimflam prattle on the established principles of indoctrination as holy writ; or stomach its mealy, sludge-like swill as nutriment? Who would be eager to be sold this paltry bill of goods, or to cast their lot in such an ill-designed, hastily fabricated, moribund ship of fools, piloted by "visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads?" Indeed!! "So, unbeknownst, you plotted your course by other than the established set of stars. Forsaking all, turning neither to the right nor the left, keeping the great prize, the brilliant guiding pearl continually before your eyes, seeking wisdom, knowledge, and guidance, you went straight to the gene pool. Back here in the olden times, the 60s, this was referred to as The WHAT, pool? "One cannot be the raving lunatic at all times. A little is permitted. There are other roles to be played in this game. Hence, we have the balance so often sought in an instructor, who we will entrust to uphold, guide, and pass on to the delicate minds of our beloved children, those cherished principles and truths held common by all, so as not to yield to temptation. Oui, the dear reader, is amused? Methinks, however, there were signs that all was not going well in paradise.
Evil forces awork, unsuspected, creeping slowly, undermining the Holy Quest. Robbing you of the glory rightfully due. The little sub-human particles' self-destructive, misguided enthusiasm brought tears of joy to your eyes, along with a false sense of victory in its cloudy haze. Then they came. Those damning letters! Letters that brought news of the collapse of your, would-be, glorious empire. Listen and weep. Share this moment of sorrow. As the students, by now apostles of delusion, went forth, they wound up in the top classes, science or anything, throughout the world, or wherever else they went. These jettisoned islands, instead of becoming despised, alienated, and avoided, became the nuclei of profound thinkers to draw others. The examples for all to follow. Horrors! The examples? More horrors! To those about, you fell, broken, having wretchedly failed, but to the students, who quietly saw through these ploys and guises, it was merely another day of intense labs, putting up with the instructor's wandering mind, poor theatrics and abuse of their native tongues, except for those that knew what was really happening and where they were really going. To most it would appear you were robbed, not only of victory, but of sorrow. Doomed to the daily humdrum. Bitterness indeed! "Then again, to believe that, then perhaps victory is not thus so easily denied, for you have once again succeeded in eluding all, maybe even yourself, as to the nature
of your true intent. Whatever it is you do, you apparently do it quite well; passing some kind of flaming torch, fiery passion to know, to learn, to kids. And something
dangerously forboding more, forbidden even to partake, for those who wished it, sought it! Though none has ever suspected your motive. Exposed the why! The plot does indeed thicken. Si? We are not so witty and cunning as we suppose, now are we? "As to how you arrived here at this somewhat exalted situation - instructor, beacon and mentor to future world leaders - must prove most interesting. It is not perhaps as one supposes or as it should be. Come! Follow! And when we have completed the full circle, there may be those out there reading this bilge that might be of some assistance unraveling this baffling bewilderment as to why or how such a one now stands here. Perchance a Quequeg's roll of the bones? A Bushman's crafty plot to thoroughly tangle up civilized rational thought? Maybe just simply nothing more than a Devil may care or Who gives a tinker's damn, a hoot, or a flying fig approach to who shall lead us? Please bear with this most personal bit of intrigue. This search for the elusive motive. See! There really is a Holy Quest. One could like such a beginning, no?"
CHAPTER 3
The tale that is about to be woven is as accurate in detail and concept as the passing years will afford and as legible as the subject's unfit nature and total inability to communicate will permit. It is here laid down with as much honesty as one has left throughout these years. If it appears, to those more learned and scholarly than yourself sorts, who know whereof they speak - and you do not - that what flows forth from this vessel is more "mierda del toro" than virtue, let them discern, soothsay, expound, and interpret with clamorous vehemency from the security of their temple sanctuaries until perhaps, maybe they are summoned to the tomb to arouse the dead, where, one would wager, that little more than a mutter and grumble could be coached from them. Anyway, on with this fool's chase, that is feared may be all too tarnished, voided, and clouded over by the truth to be of any concerning interest. There is a point beyond which memory fails and the conscious individual ceases to exist in anything more than an ancient role played out long ago in an icy age by unbridled forces of primitive passions and fears. It appears that the beginning of this yarn, and the end for that matter, may lie entwined in these primitive things! Powerful things! Uncompromising, urgent, overriding all else, domineering things! Arrogant, contemptuous, overbearing slave masters par excellent, as real as any haughty creatures as did joust with a Lancelot or were met at a Waterloo or rent a Van Gogh or did pillage, torment, and helplessly strand any child left as the end product of the brewer's
art. This is the point where memory fails and the conscious journey begins. Fear, helplessness, confusion, loneliness, and despair make interesting roomies and bedfellows for a tot, let alone great genealogy stock. Trapped with ancestral boogies and embroiled with primal thugs, from day one, that clamor out of the woodwork when the dark, cold shadows of uncertainty appear, to prowl and do mischief on a young mind. Foreboding harbingers, somehow to be dealt with, but not lightly. It took no little doing to herd and prod these deceptively oily creatures about. To form some strategy on how to get rid of them, you had to figure out how, when, and why they came in the first place. They sure weren't invited to the party. The details of their arrival were not new or unique. Following flashing neon lights, they came, seeking, like screeching madmen on whiskey stenched breaths, kicking and clawing at the child, bearing curses, shattered bottles, pain and grief; nor did they depart after the child had been carted off to the delusory world of institutional living. Years later it would be revealed that there were parents, each of which had been, likewise, carted off to their respected institutions. Already it's running in the family - a shock indeed, not being aware that one existed. The details were not important. Being alone was. Oh well! Nothing can be gained bawling over the cause. The effect could be dealt with. By age five, after numerous cartings off and institutions, there appeared a parting of company with the scourge of these creatures and their plaguing pestilences. With the routing of these louts there was uncovered another yet more powerful, but rational, Beast, capable of ungarbled thought, destined to become the constant confidant, permitting one to deal with, yet acquiesce to nothing. The mettle of this Beast was soon to be tested. World War II had just ended, so it seemed somehow poetic that the next three
years were to be spent in a military institution along with a couple hundred other kids, learning t hate what they called "Japs 'n Krauts," givin' meanin' t the ritualistic existence we enjoyed. Shoulda seen the disgustin inserted movie frames in the war films that we constantly hadda watch. Other kids didnt even notice em, but started hatin right off. The enemy was probably doin the same thing t their kids. All little buddin S.S. Agents fer a, not-so-dead, Third Reich. See, we are, even now, movin' slowly back in time t this startin' point, as good as any, a five year old mind existin' in a ten-thousand year old institution. Beds was made without a wrinkle, tucks at 45 degrees, taut t bounce a coin. Clothed in fanatically cleaned, scrubbed, 'n polished war-like accouterments, we marched everywhere: marched t early mornin' drill; marched t a rigid, postured breakfast; marched t inspection of all issued equipment (each item placed, folded, 'n located exactly accordin' t the anticommunist handbook); marched t school; marched t an iron-heeled, mute lunch; marched t after lunch march; marched back t school; marched t after school march n drill; marched t cleanup; marched t a tired, silenced supper; marched t evenin preparation fer tomorrows inspection; 'n sometimes marched t a night march. Then we'd listen t "purposeful" stories, either in bed 'r standin' at a very tired, limply stilted attention fer two 'r three hours, perfectin' some flaw in our moral fiber: wrinkles, seconds, specks, diction, 'r thoughts. Free time: ya didn't always get it everyday, 'n when ya did it was always in full military dress. There really wasn't a whole lotta things ya could do durin' this period except walk around stiff as a board, lookin' like ya had a broomstick up yer shorts. Weekends was fer visitations, competitions, payin' fer infractions 'r working on the institution's huge chicken ranches. The chickens was a welcome reprieve from all the glories. Besides they didn't throw no whiskey bottles atcha 'r make ya march till ya was doin' it in yer sleep. T yer way of thinkin' they was definitely a higher life form,
probably from some visitin' advanced civilization, 'n we was eatin' 'em, instead of listenin' t 'em. The kids was divided inta two stacks: big things over twelve n little things under twelve - - all military issue! Smacks of the ol homestead. On t our leader. He was big, fat, old, bald, 'n ugly, 'n his cheeks flapped 'n made slappin' sounds when he talked. Talked? Shouted, ordered, bellowed, but never, never just talked. The Lieutenant was more than mere High Commander of the Seven Seas, Pilot of all Skies, Supreme Potentate, Sovereign Patriarch, Blessed Guru of AllKnowing, Mother Superior, Liege n Master of every second we lived n breath we took, jus somethin more. More! The guy was huge! Enormous! Mountainous unta the heavens! Especially t a diddly little five year old. He reminded one of a belchin, blubberin patron, reminiscent of times past when men was men n stormed up hills with guts danglin out, rippin the enemy apart with bare hands n teeth. What soon became evident was that, through strict discipline n harsh punishment, he was dead set on turnin us inta those men, even though they never existed r was merely somethin he wanted t be, but never could. Figments! We was all about t be turned inta figments, n that of someone elses imagination n not of our own. T steal ones mind n rob the imagination musta been somethin overlooked in the fine print. What kinda macabre repossession agency was we hooked up with? No, sir! No small potatoes, this outfit. He was gonna show the world how he could fight. "By god, we'll show them Japs, them damn Krauts. Next time, we'll be ready for them." Maybe he had visions of his "Raiders" stormin' hills 'r whatever else was necessary fer him t look hisself in the mirror again. Of course, all this hill stormin' would be accomplished through our danglin' entrails. In any case, he was our shinin' light 'n guidin' beacon. We was t seek all in him. Oh, but he did enjoy an inspection!
Standin' rigid, feet spread, eyes forward, shoulders back, stomach in, 'n thumbs on pants seams, one didn't flinch as he stepped on yer unsatisfactory shoe shine, crunchin' yer toes, 'r when he ripped yer shirt open fer an infraction, sendin' buttons flyin', t be sewed on durin' free time, 'r half manglin' yer neck as he tore yer tie off. A bed wrinkle would send blankets, sheets, 'n mattress sailin' across the dorm, 'n dressers would be overturned 'n emptied fer any misfolded 'r misplaced article. All these infractions was accompanied by an hour 'r two perfectin' the skill - durin' meals 'n free time, of course. Then there was plate inspection, where one didn't hesitate t eat all of whatever it was that was served ya, unless ya wanted t miss two 'r three meals. Food, 'r the lack of it, kept ya mindful of the non-negotiable, fine print nature of this Black Friday, diabolical pact everything in yer whole life now fell inta. Now on t school, kiddies. There was skill buildin' materials 'n aids that the teachers used. The ruler bein' the most recognized 'n favorably accepted within the academic community, with books runnin' a close, but hardy, second. Don't recall learnin' much in school, except what rulers was used for: across the face; on top of the head; on the back, butt, fingertips, 'n knuckles. Yes, sir! That ruler was quite an invention. Gonna find that guy in a dark alley some night. Yes, sir! Quite an invention! Now books, also, had achieved a rightfully deserved place of their own as suitable, scholastic tools; however, they never did quite reach the lofty status afforded the ruler. Yet, some teachers was really inta books, though not in excess, keepin' more in mind a balanced curriculum, with a kid not bein' able t balance 'r juggle more'n four 'r five books at a time, on outstretched arms, very long. Two 'r three, fer a much longer time was widely acclaimed t enhance the value of books as teachin' tools. The teachers, bein' as highly creative as they was, found other uses fer books. While a ruler gave a sharp, cuttin', welty sting, a good hardy thump from a thick dictionary was worth a
religious experience. Even though one teacher swore by one, 'n another swore by the other, by 'n large, they all zealously preferred the pleasant, satisfyin' fulfillment associated with yieldin' the ruler - - that o1' time honored stand-by with its majestic sense of vindictive, puritanical rightness. Seems the consensus among the kids, as a whole, though, was unanimous -- the ruler bein' the most awesome literary tool ever devised. More mightier than the pen. If the Lieutenant saw any welts across yer face 'r swollen knuckles when ya was marchin' t lunch from school, ya jus' kept on marchin' till school started again in the afternoon. He was a staunch defender of sound educational principles, 'n the teachers knew it, too. They were determined t take us back t the good o1' days when students knew how t sit, stand, rise, walk, rest, eat, drink, 'n think properly. All this, fer the most part, was t be accomplished by the ruler. The very font of knowledge. Occasionally there was free time (remember the thing ya did with the broomstick?) unless, of course, ya hadda work on perfectin' some flaw in yer moral fiber. One didn't get too involved in any activity, as ya only had around fifteen seconds t get back in line after the whistle blew. Each second tardy meant one hour standin' at attention workin' on this particular skill, 'r fer any other particular skill fer that matter. While the other kids played you would test the calculations yer never restin, mind was constantly churnin out (later called applied physics n termed as energy, mass, forces, etc.) on everything around ya. Example: The long 100 yard x 2 feet high x 1 feet wide heavy rock wall that visitors would sit on n watch us stand n parade in the hot sunhopin wed faintwas easily lifted n cracked in numerous places usin a large limb that had fallen nearby n thrust inta quick holes n wedged in at the base n pressure applied at the exact spot. The high brick swimmin pool wall was next. Huge cement slabs, pillars n giant monuments followed. Innocent small holes n
channels were dug t slowly erode by water n wind n gradually collapse buildings by loss of resistance t their mass. Seein that everything was bent on the horizon by a natural force prompted the calculation of this force t give ya the ability t accurately measure a circle without crude straight line mathematics house tops on the horizon, spiderwebs, etc. Everywhere ya now looked in this sick place bore evidence of the application of yer calculations: heavy structures were cracked, tiltin, crumblin r soon t be. By age six youd figured out that what they called school was both primitive n non functional, along with the minds of the teachers, n was of no assistance whatsoever in yer calculations. Maybe ya jus felt that a few object lessons would be in order, t raise their level of awareness from a flat earth t at least a tiltin earth. Anyway, marbles (stationary mass, but maybe not, vs mass, distance, velocity ) was how most kids chose t spend their free time.
One small tyke, having lost a goodly portion of his "merbs" t the whistle, tried t save the few he had left when the whistle again blew, instead of leavin' 'em 'n jus' runnin' like hell. One day somebody'll do a study of the emotional attachment of six year olds 'n their marbles. Jus' run like hell! What ensued next, back in formation, was meant not t be fergotten. He had unknowingly committed the unpardonable sin, stepped inta a hole in which there was no bottom. Lost forever. Jus' like the preacher said. The tiny shavers, "Why?" brought an instant, seethin' blast from the Lieutenant, "You dare question your commanding officer?" With cheeks flappin' 'n slappin' noisily, eyes bulgin', face red 'n veiny, he commanded - that was our commander all right - the perpetrator of this atrocity t go stand at attention in the dorm. He was still standin' there when we went t bed that night, nor was he t be seen at evenin' meals 'r playground fer over a month. His Saturday movie privileges was taken away, 'n all his evenin's durin' this time was
spent at attention fer three hours. Today that kid's probably gotta billion marbles all over his house 'n won't pick up one. Now on t a few touchin', personal glimpses of our leader. Our Lieutenant was very fond of faces, t the extent that these was his favorite teachin' tools, coupled along with his big fists 'n various other implements of enlightenment, of course. These he felt was the very height of educational therapy; lovin' t shout 'n slobber on 'em with his sticky sputum that always seemed t be clingin' from the sides of his mouth; poke, knead, pinch, twist, distort, 'n slap 'em (bein' equally adept with either side of either hand); and, as not t be outdone by his fellow teachers, his versatility extended far beyond the ruler t the switch 'n belt - the latter seemed t be forever unrollin' from some hidden fold 'r crack in his blubbery carcass. A cryin' child, for any reason 'r infraction, would stand in front of him. He hadda be seated as most kids came not much above his waist, someplace between the second 'n third flabby, jelly-like roll of our hard-fightin' commando leader. He'd sit, crouched forward on an armless chair, a hand restin' on either knee. After a few words of fatherly wisdom, the whole side of yer face would erupt inta a large, red welt. He'd continue this therapy a half dozen times; but, so as ya didn't tire 'r become leisurely distracted, he'd throw an extra curve of conditionin' inta the lesson. A flinch meant ya got an extra bit of therapy, another wallop. He prided hisself in bein' able t make even the most rigidly trained 'n hardened eight 'r nine year old t flinch. Yes, sir! Prided hisself, he did. Personally, after a year 'r so of the wallops, three 'r four times a week, the twitches developed in yer eyes, 'n then he really got therapeutic. To our commando leader there was no difference between a twitch 'r blink - - whap, whap, whap! His "cure all" was good fer everythin', twitches 'r blinks. He had great faith in his techniques. Stutterin' brought on extra special treatment: the belt, switch, n ruler. (Gonna meet that guy in a dark alley some night.) Be interestin t see what effects
this constant whackin all these small kids heads around ,n, with their brains gettin sloshed n banged about, will have when they get older. Not lookin r feelin too wholesome right now. Hed unsheathe his heavy canvas belt from some deep crevice in his unendin anatomy n roll it around his fist so only six inches was left doubled at the end; crouched forward in all his regal splendor, majestic jowls salivatin a trickly drool, hed begin his pastoral chat. This type of edification left the inside of yer mouth where yer teeth 'n cheeks touched, raw, bruised, 'n bleedin'. Speakin' of numbers, now that we're on the subject, glad ya brought it up. We all had numbers fer roll call, 'n a shy, stutterin', blinkin', 'n twitchin' #17 often had trouble gettin' it out loud 'r fast enough fer the Lieutenant - - whap, whap, whap! T this day there is no ill-will harbored against the #17, but one would have the doubts about placin' a bet on a horse of that number - - whap, whap, whap! Yes, sir! It's a known fact, no bettin' on #17. Afterwards there was always the sparkly little spots in front of yer eyes 'n the numbs when ya didn't feel much of anything, but worse was the ache 'n sharp pain that sometimes lasted a day 'r more. The switch was equally as worse. The side where the switch landed stung like the dickens, but the tip would come around 'n get ya on the other side of the face, leavin' large welts that bled around yer eyes 'n mouth. Swollen knuckles received at school could sometimes pass unnoticed, but not the ruler's long welt with its straight cut on the side (accomplished by the thin metal guide strip) across the face. The teachers knew this, not only t mark ya fer further enlightenment from the Lieutenant, but t make ya feel ashamed 'n guilty in front of the other kids. Worked on most kids. Scars sometimes stuck around, kinda permanent, like the blinks n twitches.
Our leaders next favorite educational aid was t have ya stand fer long periods of time, preferably sweatin. As the institution was located in a hot n sunny southwest location, this was nicely accomplished. Notice the words hot n sunny". What great potential teachin' aids fer his "Raiders". How long could ya last in a dark, heat absorbing, heavy wool uniform, in 1000 + temperatures before collapsin' on yer face? How long? Hmmmmmm? Which was the most effective learnin' tool: ruler, book, fist, switch, 'r belt? How do ya make a kid flinch? How do ya cure a twitch, stutter, 'r blink? Here he was again, tacklin' another ponderously deep, eternal question. That was our leader, right on the forefront of great academic 'n social breakthroughs, guidin' the way. Burstin' with pride we was. Tears t the eyes. God! It's movin'. Enough of this heartfelt sentiment. On t "hot 'n sunny". Well, we had a large, second floored, asphalt patio roof that proved ideal fer this type of instruction 'n inquiry inta the unknown. He would send some kid out there early Saturday 'r Sunday mornin' 'n jus' forget about him - no food, water, 'r breaks, jus' sun-blistered face, sweat, 'n exhaustion. There wasn't much left of a kid after ten hours on the "roof". Ahhhh! Life with father! Never dull. Be like a zoo sometimes: little stutterin, blinkin, scar, welt r blister faced kids twitchin n at the slightest noise. After a couple dozen times on the "roof," terrible headaches was added t the sharp pains, blinkin, twitchin', 'n stutterin'. Terrible enough t seek counsel with the Beast. Remember him? The attic proved t be an excellent meetin' ground. Connected t the o1' Spanish-styled, adobe-walled, tile-roofed dorms was the massive, stately, 'n imposin' administration building. High above all its floors was a long, narrow, quiet, cool 'n dark, seldom used, attic hallway. There was three 'r four doors on either side of the tunneled blackness. Only one room ever appeared t be used, speakin' from personal observation havin' spent more'n yer share of dozen hour stints standin' with nose t the wall. Occasionally a scraggly, unkept, gray haired o1' lady jerkin
would poke her wrinkly, aged face outta the room 'n inta the darkness 'n mumble an indifferent, "Oh, it's you again," 'r, "You still here?" This almost totally abandoned garret musta been fergotten guest rooms 'r rooms fer fergotten guests 'r a dumpin' 'n storage grounds fer officers' disclaimed, haggly, crotchety o1' mothers-in-law. "Stuff 'em in the attic." Rooms are probably all chock-full of long since departed guests 'r shriveled up, leathery, antique mothers-in-law. Nobody'd know. Jus' stacked up like cordwood. It was always dark as night up there, cool 'n quiet. There wasn't no, "Hup, one, two, three," 'r sticky saliva gettin' plastered on yer face 'r beds flying in the air 'r switches puttin' welts across yer face. Why this was the only sane place t be. Course, there wasn't much food either: a piece of bread 'n a small carton of milk, if ya was up there all day - - if he remembered. But, then again, when ya got the cool 'n quiet, ya come out ahead. Then there was yer o1' friend the door: "Wasn't ya here last time?"; "Whatcha up here for?"; "Maybe he plum forgot aboutcha. Don't bother him, findin' kids face down on the asphalt roof. No, sir! Don't bother him none." Attic time was thinkin' time. Get an idea of the creature. Form some strategy. No, when ya got the cool 'n quiet, ya come out ahead! This institutional stuff wasnt no moren the determined elimination of thought. Everyone looked so dumb doin dumb things followin others doin dummer things. The most dummest got awarded medals. The sharp stabbin pains in yer head, from all the beatins t get ya t think right, was now interferrin with yer ability t concentrate on yer math n physics calculations. Incidents, inevitable events, was t arise that pointed t the possibility that bein' a good little solider wasn't in the cards, the tea leaves. Occasionally, a couple times a week, the Lieutenant would walk inta the john 'n find a toilet unflushed, 'r at least he thought it was unflushed. Sometimes ya flushed a
toilet 'n later a turd'd pop up. His solution was t assign about a dozen kids t each pot, 'n if he found anything floatin' in one, all dozen heads got dunked. There was too many flaws in his solution t merit justice: a returnin' turd; a visitor; a joker; a hurried flush; a ringin' bell; a defective part; low water pressure; 'r who knows what else. These never occurred to 'r meant anythin' t him. Punish 'n take vengeance. This was army life 'n good soldiers naturally took their punishment like men. Ya don't worry about all those other things. Jus' storm those hills. The zeal by which he pursued this new potential learnin' experience, turd fishin', was all consumin'. With glee he now checked the pots seven 'r eight times a day (often at night, too). You could sense his childish delight as he slowly 'n quietly walked, with hands clasped behind his back like a strollin' general reviewin' his troops before battle, through the dorm motionin fer the malcreants t form a line behind their shirked responsibility. Hed send fer some of the seventeen n eighteen year old big things t officiate in the ceremony. The pity was that, by the time theyd arrived from the other building, the ill-fated, who'd been awaitin' their "jus' desserts," as men, of course, had, fer ten 'r fifteen minutes, been watchin' hot, rank, pissy urine 'n turds, acquirin' queasy stomachs 'n pale, greenish faces. Turnin' each kid upside down, the big things stuffed his head all the way inta the stenchy mess, holdin' it there fer awhile, 'n swishin' it around a bit. (A size five t ten year-old head fit nicely, clean down t the bottom.) After a couple kids, the pots slimed n reeked of barf. This didnt bother our commando leader, as long as he wasnt anywhere near that icky stuff, where he might possibly get his hands soiled. When all dozen of the guilty members had been dunked, they hadda clean up the whole john, which, by now, was one mass of vomit 'n filth. Everybody was commanded t watch the entire exercise. Everybody obeyed. Well, almost everybody. It was disgustin'. There was better things t be doin' elsewhere. Thinkin'! The Lieutenant noticed. The you-know-what was about t hit the fan.
Late one evenin' while standin' on duty, havin' stood all day out in the parade field - without breakfast, lunch, 'r supper - a messenger came with a summons t report 'n line up at the pot. Not havin' been within a mile of the place all day, there was undoubtably some mistake. As it had turned out earlier at the line-up, #17 had been found missin'. The Lieutenant knew nothin' about it. Another kid had reminded him of the early mornin' duty assignment he had issued. Arrivin' exhausted, thirsty, 'n hungry, with stomach cramps 'n sharp pains in the head, an effort was made t explain the situation. That was unimportant. This was the army. What was good fer one was good fer all. With a jerk 'n a shove, the Lieutenant delivered #17 t six waitin' big things. Reason had failed. There was no rich parents, influential relatives on the board, no place t run. Alone. Alone? Maybe all those thousands of hours marchin', hundreds of hours standin' at attention in the hot sun 'n in the cool, quiet, dark attic, the beatin's with fists, belts, rulers, 'n switches, n' hours of war films had actually worked, created one of those figments of the Lieutenant's imagination that stormed hills, guts danglin', rippin' the enemy apart with bare hands 'n teeth. Who knows, but when those big goons grabbed #17, a surprise was in store, all around. #17 had a defect. Bein' left alone t yerself on weekends, holidays, 'n vacations, when everybody else went t homes 'n parents, ya amused yerself by readin' whatever ya could scrounge up r see if anything was left in the book burning box. Readin' wasn't overly
encouraged at the institution. A colorful package of reproduced documents, stuck in the bottom flap of the box, proved fascinatin', a bit difficult t read at first, but an ol' dictionary helped. Things like the Declaration of Independence, Bill of Rights, 'n The Constitution of the United States of America. Words like "inalienable" 'n "rights" had a nice ring to 'em. Rights? Well at this particular moment what was right was right, 'n what was wrong was wrong. What was about t happen was wrong, 'n when those big
things grabbed #17, they found out how wrong it was. You was small, but, from the Halls of Montezuma t the shores of Tripoli, you was right!. When they grabbed #17, they unleashed the BEAST! We had now reached that course in human events, with all them big things, them British, comin atcha, when it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Natures God entitled them,2 1776 r 1940s, tyrany is tyrany, but this is a
sicknesslyin, fearin n hatin. Something is terribly wrong! Feet 'n fists went flyin', landin' everywhere ya could imagine - 'n they did indeed land there, too. The big things tried desperately t grab, subdue, 'r do anythin, but they was only met by more feet, fists, 'n teeth. Hideous shrieks 'n low, slow dyin' moans echoed through the portals of the john. One big guy lay doubled up in the corner, gaspin'; another was screamin', holdin his bloody, vomit-soaked head, after it'd been stuffed inta the pot by an eight year-old foot. After ten minutes they was all bleedin', their faces covered with blood, barf, cuts, scrapes, 'n welts. The eight year old was still goin' strong as the last of the goons went crawlin' outta the toilet. Two hadda be carted off t the hospital with serious damages. Nasty business messin' with the Beast. Our fierce fightin' mass of commando stuff stood outside the door cowerin' - pale, shakin', 'n dumbfounded with disbelief, his face splattered with drying, sticky sputum from frantically shoutin' orders, n reekin of the acrid stench of fear. The eight year-old, breathin' deeply, looked him in the eyes, slowly shakin' his head -- No! A word, order, command, 'r anything woulda sent the lad springin' onta the blubberin' carcass, rippin' 'n tearin'. It musta been the first time our fierce fightin mass of commando stuff had faced a real enemyraw, unbendin, unyieldin, in yer face, DEFIENCEchallengin everything he stood for. He literally pissed his pants!
Fer the remainin' few months of #17's stay, there were no more dunkins, fists, belts, rulers, switches, beatins, roofs, r attics fer anybody, n no more destroyin yer little scraps of paper with yer calculations n diagrams, not even with the rich board member's kid incident. The kid was not only bigger but much older than was permitted, bein' close t fourteen in the under twelve dorm. His rich, board member father'd "fixed it." The kid was not only spoiled rotten, which was bearable, but had a mean, evil streak, likin' t inflict pain on others. He was constantly braggin' 'n threatenin' everybody with his father's influence 'n how he could make him do anything he wanted. Which, sad t say, was true. His particular specialty was t get a little five 'r six year-old on the ground 'n repeatedly kick him in the face -- his father cleanin' up the ensuin', sticky, political mess, washin' 'n ironin' everything out by telephone. The kid had attained a rank of captain, through no merits of his own, 'n used his power t pull rank on his inferiors fer his slightest whim 'r fancy. Power does indeed corrupt, at any age. There was a small six year-old who'd been beaten up many times by this big kid. One day, while playin' together, this big kid knocks the little kid down from the back 'n starts kickin' him in the face. It happened so fast. The blood started runnin' outta the helpless little kid's nose at about the same time as the big kid's foot drew back t kick him in the face again Wasnt much time t think, t help. Spying a small baseball bat lyin' handily close by, the leg was nicely intercepted at about halfway t the little kid's face. The big kid let out a squeal like a stuck pig, squallin' 'n bawlin'. The other kids gathered round, grinnin' 'n watchin' him writhe in pain, none offerin' assistance. He had beaten up so many little kids 'n gotten everybody else in trouble so many times that they relished this long awaited moment. Twenty stitches was required. Some wondered why
they didn't keep on sewin' all the way up t his mouth. This maybe woulda cured the rich, board member's kid of his urge t stomp on little kids. Twenty glorious stitches. Shortly after this #17 was bundled, packaged, n shipped out n deposited inta the County Juvenile Hall facilities again fer a short stay n then onta another Boys Home.
CHAPTER 4
The next two years was spent with a hundred 'r so boys 'n girls, ages four t late teens, in an institution in the Southwest, located a bit out of the nearest town next t miles of rollin' hills. The institution was t prove a mixed blessin'. While it offered many more freedoms, it also provided a staff that went outta their way, with a passion, t deny ya these freedoms. There was two boys' 'n two girls' dorms, each staffed with a housemother. The boys also had a housefather, too. It was at this
housemother/housefather level that the whole system quickly deteriorated. The housemother was always a very old, religious, reclusive, vegetatin', molelike creature, seldom makin' an appearance, save only t summons the housefather t administer the love of god fer some infraction, that somehow only she 'n god knew merited punishment. As vaguely 'n mechanically as she'd appeared, she'd return t her cubicle, as a tape recorder slowly windin' down, "sacrilege, sac..cri..lege,
sa...cr..i..1..e..g...e." The housefather would then appear with belt, switch, paddle, r ruler. There it was again. Time-proven educational techniques have a way of catchin on. Gonna meet that guy some night. Needless t say, it was the housefather that did the inspections. Between the two of 'em, they could "break" most any kid, workin on him fer weeks n months on end.-- no privileges, passes, 'r free time, only welts, bruises, extra duties, hours locked in the closet, 'n trumped up accusations, pretended offenses, that went on yer record, permanently.! All were administered with the air of perfessionalism; of course, some was more perfessional than others. There was a woman child counselor in the main office who'd talk t ya once in a while. She did all the talkin'. There was no mistake about it, those was words she was usin'. Recognize 'em anyplace. What she was doin' with 'em was a different matter. Made ya feel like a damn idiot, her bein' a child counselor 'n you bein' a child 'n not understandin' a thing. Jus' a damn idiot. Watched her lips movin', too. You'd leave, wonderin' what that was all about.
It was the loss of freedoms 'n not the welts that brought #17, after a couple three months of "breakin'" therapy, stutterin' 'n twitchin' inta the main office seekin' help. After stutterin' through three 'r four perplexed lookin' office workers, with rhetoric restricted t about half the alphabet, a heavyset lady caught the general idea, between the twitchin' 'n blinkin', "Oh, you want to talk to someone." That was easy enough fer her t say. She undoubtedly hadn't been introduced to Mr. Switch 'r Mr. Ruler. Away we went down the hall to an office, a few raps, a voice inside, an opened door, a sinkin' heart, a collapsin' mind, 'n a face that clearly registered, "Aaaaw shit!" Guess who? You got it, kid. There sat Miss Entirely Out-Of-It, who wouldn't let ya get a word in edgewise. The stutters was nothin' compared t her communication problems. With a, "Come in child," the child counselor didn't stop talkin' fer over half an
hour, 'n then jus' t rest her jaws 'n make a few hurried gasps fer breath. Though it was a hopeless cause, a few stutterin' blurts was thrown out, which only brought more gasps, as it has been entirely outta the question fer a child t speak. "We don't talk like that, child! Surely you are mistaken!" Indignantly she paged the housefather. He was all smiles, goodness 'n sugar, 'n they idly prattled (mutually lied): a characteristic he was t find of all perfessionalseducation, political, businesssave one, prostitutes. His patron saint was soon t become Evita! After a while she asked, with an exaggerated concern of bewildered amazement, "Surely he hasn't received any beatings?" Then there followed, between the two, another half hour long barrage of questions, with no pauses 'r breaks t fill in the answer blanks. After this half hour of nobody answerin' nobody's questions, she exclaimed, "Now, child, apologize to this nice man." When the desired response didn't come, she mumbled, "Oh well, you two run along now." All was lost in words. That was the first 'n last time help was ever sought. It was soon t become very evident why none of the other kids ever made the mistake of askin' fer help.
The home provided, besides a twenty-five cent a week allowance, plenty of jobs t earn a little spendin' money, payin' seven cents an hour fer gardenin', diggin' ditches, cleanin' the incinerator, 'n general maintenance. Work made ya feel good, burned off frustrations, learned things, made money, 'n best of all, gave ya another reason t be left alone - - a freedom they hadn't quite figured out about yet r how t take away. Few of the kids worked, preferrin t try 'n con the other kids outta their twenty-five cent allowances by cards, craps, pitchin' pennies, 'r stealin. They'd see ya diggin' fence post holes 'n sneer, Hey, man, why sweat yer butt off fer a few pennies when ya can jus go out an rip it off fer nothin'?" The housemother made ya keep all yer money with her. Somehow her total 'n yers was significantly different. Confrontin' her with recorded sums 'n dates was t no avail. Kids in other dorms had the same problem but figured it was useless t complain.
If they hid their money, some other kid'd steal it anyway. What's the use? Must be a solution t the thievin' o1' hags. Really didn't take too much figurin', once ya applied yerself. A transfer of the hard earned funds t the office of the Home's sympathetic, financial secretary solved the problem nicely. Her totals matched, n soon there was over forty dollars in the till. The housemother was furious, t say the least. Not a good sign. Never did get inta stealin'. So when the housefather rained down his usual vague, fictitious accusations one Saturday mornin', that somebody in another dorm had been missin' somethin', the kids all knew it was a set-up fer one of his "breakin'" sessions. Everybody else was loaded inta busses 'r trucks 'n off they went t the beach. This particular housefather never went on any excursions, always havin' t stay 'n do his duty watchin' some kid who had "misbehaved." It was always jus' him 'n one kid. The Lieutenant liked t work a kid over in front of everybody, but this new breed always did it in private when nobody else was around. They did other things, too, if you'd let 'em. Bein' confined t the dorm beat the closet. This occurred jus' a couple days after the incident with the child counselor. Hadn't finished but a few pages of a good book when he burst in, shoutin' t stand up when he was talkin'. He hadn't even been here 'n said nothin' yet. He was rantin' about somethin' bein' missin' someplace 'n t confess. Informin' him that a mistake musta been made, he went inta a heated tirade, Why you impudent. . . . n ended with the usual welt across the face with specks before yer eyes 'n sharp pains shootin' through yer head. He then commenced grittin' his teeth, tremblin' all over, 'n
hittin' real hard. He'd always get the trembles whenever he'd get wound up beatin' some kid. (We'd compare notes.) His eyes was gettin' big 'n his lips was turnin' white 'cause he had 'em clenched real tight. After a frenzied spurt of beatin', he got really wild, after hurtin' his hand with a head clout, 'n up 'n whups off his belt 'n commences strappin' like crazy. This only got him madder 'cause he broke his belt at the buckle after only a dozen whacks. With sore hand 'n broken belt, he spied a mattress support plank leanin' up against a wall. Now this wasn't no stick. You knowed what a ruler was, 'n a stick's somethin' ya poke down a gopher hole; but a plank, that's somethin' else. In the boys homes ya learned fast t stand up 'n take yer punishment, even if ya didn't deserve it; but don't recall doin' nothin' what merited the plank. He started swingin' that plank around, hittin' legs, beds, head, back, dressers, 'n the floor. The plank hurt his hand, especially when he hit the floor 'r a dresser. Finally he broke the plank 'n let out a shriek of pain, which only got him madder. By now his mouth was even whiter 'n he was tremblin' somethin' fierce. He now commenced jumpin' up 'n down on body parts, 'n kickin' wherever he could - head, back, ribs, stomach, legs 'r wherever. After this stompin' 'n kickin', he drug ya bruised, battered, 'n bloody, but still unrepentant inta the shower 'n turned on the cold water 'n left. Ya could hear him as he went down the deserted, dormitory corridor, out of breath, gaspin, pantin n shoutin', "Yer a liar. . .liar. . .liar. . . T offer resistance 'r retaliate would bring down more beatin's, loss of freedoms, 'n more piles of false accusations that went on yer record. So ya see why nobody asked fer help. Something had gone
terribly wrong! This is not how it was supposed t be! There was those, however, who saw welts, bruises, 'n cuts in excess. Things ya couldn't pass off t kids scufflin'! Walter, the pudgy, forever sooty, maintenance man, was sorta good t be around, as he would show ya a thing 'r two, here 'n there, now 'n then, 'bout what he was doin'. Learned things 'bout incinerators, garbage cans, fence posts, shovels, hoes, rakes, 'n sweat. Whatever it took t do a good job, why he'd do it. "Do it right," he'd always say, though he never come right out 'n said it with words 'n all. Matter of fact he never did say much about how ya was supposed t do anything at all. He'd jus' do it. Though he was stern, he'd tolerate ya if ya wanted t get inta some of the action, horn in on some of his garbage cans 'r somethin' he was patchin'. When he'd miss a day 'r two fer somethin', it was a pleasure 'n honor t do his chores after school, cleanin' 'n fixin' whatever deserved attention. Wouldn't tell nobody 'bout it; but, when the work was finished, it was enough jus' t sit back 'n look at the wondrous sight. Yep, sure is a lot worth knowin' 'bout garbage cans, incinerators, 'n mendin'. Found out he was some sort of religious guy, ridin' the bike over t his house early one Sunday mornin' t see how he was doin'. He was sick 'n couldn't go t work, but, lo 'n behold, there he was goin' t church. Hardly recognized him all dressed up. What had they done t Walter? He was one of them now. Shoulda seen his wife. Man, she was a sight, all painted 'n greased up, wearin' the darndest clothes ya ever saw. Walter changed inta his o1' scungies soon as he got back home. Yes, sir! Walter didn't look good in anythin' but dirt. Matter of fact, he didn't even exist in that other world. Don't know who that other guy was.
Up till now Walter appeared t be a sensible sort; but, with this new development, a fella jus' didn't know, findin' out theyd got him. Why you'd never catch o1' #17 goin' t church if he had any excuse that sounded good; even if it didn't sound good, he'd take it. There was more important things t be doin': like feelin' free out in the hills, fixin' somethin' even though it didn't need fixin', 'r jus' sittin' in a tree thinkin' 'bout things, 'bout Walter 'n how t make him right again. Jus' because ya went t church didn't mean ya really wanted t go. There might be other things what made ya go: people thinkin' bad of ya fer not goin'; a habit everybody did unquestionin'; a wife proddin', pushin', 'n squawkin'; needin' t explain, lie, why ya wasn't there. Yep, he was gonna get a lickin', jus' like the rest of us, one way 'r the other, if he didn't go. No, he couldn't be one of those religious things, always explodin' on ya. He was safe t be around. Walter got his share of whacks, bruises, scrapes, 'n cuts workin' around the Home. Seen him a time 'r two get a good one, 'n even though he tried t take it like a man, ya could tell it smarted somethin' fierce. Every now 'n then when we'd get together t work, he'd look over 'n see a welt 'r bruise ya couldn't get from bike spills, soap box derby crackups, 'r general kids' stuff. He'd stop work, lay down his tools, 'n without askin' 'r sayin' a thing, he'd walk over t the main office. Walter knew about cuts 'n bruises - - though nothin' ever come of these visits. Whatever carefully devised tests 'n screens was used, by highly trained perfessionals, fer sure, t weed out those unfit t work with kids, they always let in rigid, institutionalized vermin n the violently sick who really knew what was "best" fer children. Especially "our kinda kids". This army of children conquerors jus' filled in the
blanks, marched right in, 'n set about plunderin' tender young flesh 'n minds. It was like the tests was purposefully designed t admit only this small, distorted, deviantly twisted segment of our society, 'n "weed out" any rational 'n sensible elements. We was beginnin' t wonder if any such animal was left in the woods 'r even existed. So when Henry showed up we all knew somethin' had gone wrong with the testin' 'n screenin'. He didn't even have an institutional lobotomy. How the other staff members tolerated his presence remained a mystery. Black 'n white was closer together than what he was 'n stood for 'n what they was 'n stood for. It wasn't that he stood for this 'r that, like the staff lettin' ya know what they stood for, with sermons on right 'n wrong, good 'n evil, us 'n decent kids; it was that if the staff was people, then he was jus' somethin' else. He was t be a shop teacher, whatever that was, 'n work with us makin' things. This was a new concept, as the housefathers 'n mothers wouldn't have nothin' t do with ya except at the end of a belt 'r switch, bein' the kinda kids we was. When they came outta their rooms t work with us, it was with a stick. Keep 'em in their rooms, that was the kids' philosophy. Now, with Henry, it didn't make no difference what he was doin', ya jus' knew ya hadda grab a piece of the action. The staff was immaculate 'n prissy. He was uncouth 'n sloppy. He was so grubby that his presence musta been nauseatin' 'n odious to 'em. With pants a bunch of sizes larger fer his pot belly; a shirt that couldn't stay tucked in any one place very long 'n buttons that defied holes; a tee shirt bulgin' in all kinds of odd spots, somehow managin' t contain his undulatin' belly in one r two general areas; n with shoes, old, worn, flat,
cut up n paint stained. He wasnt fat, not all over anyway; it was jus that wrinkly mass of distortion that hung over his belt, the latter bein' entirely covered by three 'r four inches of overhangin' pants 'n bobbly mass. He walked - ya jus' hadda see it t believe it - with flat slappin' feet, attached t what appeared t be unhinged knees supportin' the wobbles. His clothes always had grease stains from the bike 'n go-cart shop 'n paint stains from a hundred different kid's projects; 'n where his pants flapped over his belt it was always filled with sawdust (along with his ears, hair n eyebrows) from the woodshop; n t top it all off, he fit nicely inta all this, like a comfortable ol shoe. As far as the kids was concerned, he was the epitome of perfection, much t the disgust of the highly trained perfessional staff. Got inta gobs of projects durin' this time, makin' everythin' ya figured a kid could make outta wood, includin' two large, eight foot soap box racers. Later on it was puttin' a bike together, from discarded bike scraps lying around the shop, that actually worked. If somebody else could make 'r do somethin', why not give it a try yerself? Who knows, maybe ya could do it jus' as good as them. Provin yer calculations was movin right along. The entrance t the Home had two eight foot tall, huge stone pillars. Five foot by five foot at the base n three foot by three foot at the top. Youd already calculated how big a limb was necessary t move em. One was still leaning from the experiment, along with lots of other things tiltin, uprooted, cracked n erodin around the Boys Home. They was about fifty yards in
front of our dorm; perfect fer yer experiment in stored energy.
Youd originally
planned t attach the ends of a bunch of bicycle inner tubes t each pillar but the distance between would require too many inner tubes n could be viewed by all n quickly stopped. So a large forked limb, like a giant twelve foot slingshot, was quickly tied t the front of a pillar n a couple of yer friends steadied it. Yer calculations would send a ten pound boulder over the dorm n then some. Tryin t explain stored energy t yer little friendswe was all around eight years oldwent right over their heads. They wanted t watch it go through the roof, aimin it over towards where the vicious, sadistic counselor lived. They held it steady while ya inserted the huge boulder in the pouch n pulled the whole thing backusin yer own weight in relation t breakin the boulders inertia with enough velocity at the right angle t achieve the necessary trajectoryn when it was jus right, let it go. They all watched in awe as it sailed over the dorm n way beyond; n then they suggested we put in a much, much bigger boulder, not pull it back so far, n aim it at the counselors room. The point was made: one, energy was stored everywhere n all ya really needed was yer mind t figure out how t use it; n two, nobody listened t kids, as all yer little friends had tried, once! When Henry was goin' someplace, you was welcome t tag along, 'n if ya could round up a few kids that wanted t go t the park, archery range 'r hiking, he'd take ya. What happened next was somethin' we figured could never happen 'n no longer even dreamed about. The whole system went "clunk." A wrench got throwed in the
works. It's not that they closed down r stopped feedin us, its jus that it all come t a very noticeable, but silent, grindin, screechin clunk. Heres how it happened. Henry had a flaw - - a button. Now most people get rid of their buttons real quick - not a healthy thing t hang onta, perfessionally speakin. But not Henry. He still had his original, genuine, bona fide button 'n kept it in good workin' order, like Patrick Henry's. (His stuck way out there.) We'd seen it get pushed before when a kid came inta the shop fulla welts 'n bruises, 'n he'd closed the shop up 'n gone flappin', unhingin', 'n wobblin' straight t the office. We didn't see no more of Henry fer a few months, but, when he came back, he still had his button, 'cause it wasn't long before he spied another kid in technicolor. Again he closed up the shop 'n went flappin', unhingin', 'n wobblin' straight t the office. We sorrowfully figured that was the last we'd see of Henry. They'd call a big meetin' with the housemothers 'n housefathers 'n all meet at the counselor's office, 'n she'd ask a hundred questions with no pauses t fill in the blanks, with nobody answerin' nobody's questions, bein' all goodness 'n smiles, 'n Henry wouldn't be round here no more. Well, he wasn't round here a month 'r so until the "clunk" hit. We figured he'd gone flappin', unhingin', 'n wobblin' t other offices, bigger offices, higher offices elsewhere. We knew he wasn't gonna go talk t no god. Maybe he was beginnin' t feel like us, that the gods, the housemothers, 'n housefathers was all in cahoots. No, he musta gone someplace he could get some action - - quick.
All we knew fer sure was that all of a sudden we didn't have no more housefathers ever again at that Home, 'n when the housemother's door opened up, out popped a big, big woman who turned out t be quite different than the room's past occupants. Her door was usually open, with kids sittin' round on her couch 'n chairs, talkin' 'n playin' games 'n even singin'. She never did switch us fer anything. We had our chores (latrines, windows, moppin', 'n scrubbin') rotated so no kid got stuck with the antique, stained, 'n smelly latrines fer months on end. (Guess who?) Then someone introduced us t another woman, young 'n sorta pretty, explainin' that, if we had any questions 'r problems of any kind, she'd like t help us with 'em. Later you'd see her wanderin' round the Home jus' talkin' with kids. She was easy t talk t 'n understand. She was our new child counselor. There was also similar changes in the other boys' 'n girls' groups. They retained only one older lady that worked with the smaller girls. The girls always told us she was nice 'n never blistered 'em 'r dinked around with 'em. She was a nurse 'n had patched most of us up a time 'r two. Guess she understood cuts 'n bruises, too, but not as good as Henry. Shortly after the machinery started movin' again, we noticed a few young adults showin' up round the Home after school. These, we found out, was college kids. We sure took a likin' t 'em. They had after school activities of all sorts. We was important t 'em. One we really liked would take a bunch of kids every now 'n then over t his house
fer dinner. A real house. His wife, a tiny Mexican woman, would cook us all kinds of Mexican foods. The college kidsd do things like that. The people that did the hirin still had a few bugs t work out in the new screenin system. One jerk they hired, as a special counselor fer the dorm that connected ours, used t climb up on the roof 'n hide behind the chimney with a pair of binoculars 'n spy on the kids, later givin' 'em a good strappin'. Fer a guy that was supposed t only counsel, that was sure heavy talk. He tried gettin' onta some kid in our dorm once, chasin' him down the hall with a belt. Out popped our housemother - our big, big housemother - 'n informed him he, "wasn't gonna be doin' no jivin' round with her kids." She didn't know nothin' 'bout how kids was "supposed t be". She wasn't inta figments. We wasn't gonna be no putty in his hands. Figments 'n "should be's" couldn't do no neat brodies, U-turns, 'n spin offa the road inta the gully 'n bushes in a homemade soap box racer. Guess bein' nine still qualified ya as a kid. These slick tongued perfessionals could sure weasel their way in. With the new housemother 'n child counselor, he was sent on his way packin', in short order, leavin' us with a, "Kids are all going to hell today!" We sure didn't need no more religious things round the Home. Then there was Henry. He was back again 'n we was sure glad.
CHAPTER 5
From the beginnin' life was divided inta two institutions: the Home and the public school system. At times it sure looked bleak. If change happened in the Home, we was never t experience any in the public school system. Remember? Fer the kids in the Home, as they called it, the public school system cast an ominous pall. Had it not been fer a growin, almost consumin desire t learn new things n read books (any books), there wouldnta been nothin t overcome the negative effect of the school system towards learnin windin up like most of the kids in the Home, hatin anything related t school. There was a public school jus down the hill from the Home. All the teachers, except one substitute, suffered the blandies, with a nasty twist, some bein more perfessional than others. They offered very little but did it with a passion.
Bein as we was the kinda kids we was, the teachers n the "outside" kids could do no wrong, 'n they knew it. Everybody got on the wagon. The teachers would jerk ya outta the desk by yer hair; drag ya up t the front of the room by yer ear t have the class laugh attcha fer some infraction; whack ya with rulers; intimidate ya daily as examples fer other kids not t follow: "You want to turn out like him," 'r "Better do your work or you'll wind up like her." Ya tried t do everythin' jus' right, but whack, poke, jerk, 'n laugh was right there - - waitin'. Jus' like the Lieutenant lookin' fer turds. However many Home kids a teacher had in their room, that's how many whippin' posts they had t beat on, loose their frustrations, often encouragin' the decent, respectable, outside kids t get in on the fun. These "decent 'n respectable kids" didn't need no encouragement. They'd justify gangin' up on some kid on the school grounds with, "Hell, they're only Jews, Niggers, Degos, Wetbacks, Polacks, and Chinks - Home Kids." One big teacher we called Big Guy, amongst other things, was particularly fond of jerkin Home kids outta their chairs by the hair, pickin em right off the ground, n sometimes lettin other kids administer justice fer him by silently motionin fer them t sneak up n whack us on the back of the head with their knuckles r a book. A real treat. Train em up right. He didn't dare do any of these things t the "outside" kids, as they
had parents. Parents who'd raise hell. We had housefathers (before the "clunk") who was jus' waitin' fer any excuse t lay inta us. Yes, sir, the class sure liked that head thumpin'. Couldn't get enough of it. Be quite a spell before the laughter died down. We was all somehow stamped as kids that got sent t the Home fer gettin' inta trouble, even the first 'n second graders in fer broken homes, abandonment, 'r parental death. Real crumbs. Jus' all lumped together. Any trouble (one offense) 'n out ya went. The other kids knew this 'n got a real thrill outta whackin' some "toughie" on the head 'n him not bein' able t do anythin' about it. Ya get thrilled doin' somethin' once, 'n yer gonna wanna do it again. Right? Maybe any o1' time ya felt like ya needed a thrill, you'd jus' go get yerself a thrill. Can't be nothin' wrong with it. Teacher lets us do it. Sometimes a bunch of 'em wanted their thrills all at once on the playground by gangin' up on one of us with rocks, sticks, kickin', hittin', 'n jeerin'. The teacher looked upon this (feet in the ribs, head cloutin', 'n gravel in the face) merely as kids' play, until we fought back 'n plastered one of 'em; then he'd break it up, 'n the appropriate instigator would be abruptly whisked away t the office. Laughs 'n victory cheers all 'round. Teacher needed this. These same "decent" kids would never, not even two 'r three of 'em, bother ya, 'r be anything but awful polite, if they'd see ya on the weekends, away from school, knowin' they'd get torn t pieces but quick; not likin' t receive bloody noses 'n fat lips
as well as give 'em. Them "decent 'n respectable" rich kids was not only milksops, but disgustin' human bein's as well. Got whacked 'n broke more rulers fer readin' magazines 'n books tucked inside the regular texts, after all the assignments was finished, than fer anythin' else. Couldn't see wastin' good time jus' sittin', hands folded on top of the desk, doin' nothin'. It went real bad fer ya if they caught ya readin somethin like Popular Mechanix, r worse yet, National Geoqraphic. You'd get the "vile, foul, 'n indecent reading material lecture. Get marked as an incorrigible n get sent t the principals office along with the whacks. Thank goodness there was an odd duck that came t swim in the pond fer a spell, that saw things a bit differently. She was a substitute that had taken over fer the regular teacher that had left. Only had her fer a few months, but she soon had ya sittin', sandwiched between her desk 'n the class's small, library shelves, after she saw the books sneak out when school work was finished, complete 'n accurate, before anybody else's. She wasn't like the other perfessional teachers, not havin' taken the solemn oath t be bland 'n nasty, but was instead a gentle, courteous, elderly "lady", respectin' yer privacy, ideas, 'n interests, who also knew more about Homes 'n public schools than she let on. Knowin' our circumstances, she was amazed at this nine year old's intense desire t learn n incredible ability t read so well. She wouldn't tolerate insultin' others.
After she'd been here a week or so, she leaned over 'n whispered, "You may read anytime you so choose." Wow! Readin' books was somethin' that jus' wasn't done, permitted, at least not in school. She'd already changed the o1' borin', classroom library books, that'd sat unchanged fer years, with different ones, thick ones, with authors like: Robert Louis Stevenson, Mark Twain, Daniel DeFoe, Jonathan Swift, Herman Melville, Jules Verne, Edgar Allan Poe, Sir Walter Scott, Washington Irving, James Fenimore Cooper, Rudyard Kipling, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Jack London, Alexandre Dumas, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Victor Hugo, Homer, Thomas Malory, Johann Wyss, Brett Hart. When one was finished, a new one showed up. Durin' the next few months a great calm came over the stutters 'n twitches. Days passed quietly 'n softly. There wasn't no flyin' sputum, insults, intimidations, 'r whacks. Shame books never caught on in school. After nearly thirty books, there was new concepts 'n ideas, freely given by great minds, long since departed, t think about 'n ponder. Like receivin' help from the dead. Couldn't let that bother ya. Help was help, 'n if the dead can do a better job than the livin', let's put 'em on the staff. Besides they didn't need no rulers. What they gave was sorta peculiar in that it was often difficult t put a finger on exactly what it was. Oh, there was jarrin' flashes of enlightenment, t be sure, but all this understandin' seemed t lack understandin' itself - facts on how t use whatcha
didn't even know ya had hold of. Sure don't sound right, but that's the way it appeared. Here! See fer yerself the nebulous nature of jus' one of these peculiar things that was there without substance. In this short period of calm 'n quiet, a lull in the constant conflict, came a kinda impulse t dabble in verse. There'uz no denyin' it, yer new friends had put ya up t it 'cause this compellin' urge wasn't there before you'd met 'em. Lookin' at some of these dabblin's, ya could probably read between the lines things into 'em, like you yerself did when readin' 'r look at 'em as inner things hollerin' out; but, in reality, they jus' came out the way they came out. Little dabblin's was all they was.
REPUTATION A stranger rode in town one day. A lonely man was he, they say. That stranger who rode in Dodge that day. There was a fire in his eye
that put scare t those what passed him by.
They knew him not 'n cared the same, but as he passed they saw his fame.
A Navy Colt strapped t his side, its rugged notches it could not hide.
The sun was high up in the sky. The streets was bare, deserted n dry.
A man stepped out
'n bellowed a cry, "Is yer gun as fast as I?"
His stride was slow. His draw was quick of lightnin' speed, a blurr 'r flick.
Only one stood up, strong of will. The other they buried at Boot Hill. A stranger rode outta town that day. A lonely man was he, they say. That stranger who rode outta Dodge that day.
Now the moral's as old as the story is told Yer gun was swift 'n yer pride was bold if ya lived in the days of yella gold.
This next verse was fer a grayin', elderly lady substitute, gutsy enough t buck the system. Knowin' full well she probably wasn't long fer this world, yet takin' time, outta the little she had left, t do a last salvage job. Showin' ya how t see far inta the past 'n future, nursin' ya along. A last gasp on her way out. Figured she was buyin' time, givin' somethin' that would last, makin a difference in the years t come. A solitary rose atop the chalky white cliffs of Dover, high above the poundin' surf, seemed t fit the picture jus' right.
A ROSE
A Rose I see On yonder hill. A hill so far
'n farther still.
Aloft the breast of a misty peak, alone she stands so mild 'n meek.
But thorns she has, clean 'n sharp t tear the hands of those who mark.
A gust of wind arises high, 'n turns dark gray unta the sky.
With head bowed down, she seems t say,
"Winter's here, there's no more play!"
Her petals fall into the crest, 'n there she'll find eternal rest.
There it is! See the point? The product of an urge may be a fact 'cause the verse is there, clear as day. But, the urge itself, well, what is it? Summon whatever it is, however that's done. Point it in the general direction. Now, cut loose, fire away 'r however ya do it, with whatever ya got, 'n see, all yer really left with is still a whatever 'n however, at best. Nope! Definitely wouldn't stand up in no court, restin' yer case on its existence solely because it produces. Yes, sir, laugh ya right out they would. One day, many years later, in another country, language, alley, old bookstore, he would read these exact sentiments by another poetPablo Neruda We had lunch one day in her tiny, cluttered, attic apartment before she left. She had shells she'd collected from her travels 'n teachin' all over the world. She also spoke many different languages. The other teachers looked small, mean, far off, 'n alien, with
their trite bickerin's 'n flailin' rulers, against this gentle giant. She left 'n it was back t the dismal prospects of school. Dismal was the word 'cause, when she'd first arrived, she'd made it quite clear that nobody makes fun of 'r insults anybody fer any reason, let alone fer some dumb reason like ya was a different color, skin-wise 'r socially. Them rich kids 'n their parents was pissed! They squawked somethin' fierce, they did. The other teachers laughed at her, too: "You'll learn that they're all no good!" But she stood firm! Wouldn't stand fer it, even over the continual grumblin's of the other students: "But the other teachers let us do it. It's not fair. They get to do it, and we don't." Well, they got t do it now, 'n they was rarin' t go, what with two months stored up. We was met by a tight lipped, puritanical, spinster-type, who let us know that the Mayflower had jus' landed, 'n she was sent t bring the light t us heathen savages. School was even more rigid now. As usual, any assignment ya handed in fer composition was always in proper 'n correctly spelled English, but (when it came t authenticity, quotin' accurately, verse, 'r tryin' t catch the flair of times long ago) yer papers came back with gobs of black marks, words crossed out, spellin' errors, abbreviated comments pokin' outta most every word, 'n bad grammar from top t bottom; it was worser than you'd ever hoped for, reachin' all new heights of bad everything 'n breakin' all former records. There wasn't nothin' left of whatever it was that was originally there. She made it read like them books what'd sat round the class
fer years with nobody readin' 'em. Who talked like that anyway? Nobody you knew, leastways way back then. She, along with other teachers, then n now, didnt like yer long paragraphs either, so dont feel alone out there. Seems school is fer keeping ya from recordin how it really was/is until they taught ya early how it really was/is; but then its too late t know, remember, fer sure. She caught ya doodlin' on another verse once, after all yer work was finished, 'n came apart at the seams with indignant reprimands: "Disgusting! Disrespectful! Filthy, Cheap slang! n, A waste of time. Like sittin down, doing nothin wasnt a waste of time. She tore it up n tossed it in the waste basket. Shed used lots of other words, too, but those mentioned above seemed t sum up her sentiments. Fer what it's worth, the verse went like this (guess she wasn't in on the big secret that whatcha compose yerself, fer real, sorta sticks with ya):
GAMBLER
My o1' lady was a gambler, my aunt a river queen. They taught me how t throw an ace in the time of need.
Although my life was short, 'n my memories but brief, I WAS the slickest gambler along o1' Sutters Crik.
Until one day I chanced t meet a gambler slick as I. He come at me with a straight, 'n I a straight ace high.
'N as I heard him say, without a twitch of eye You dirty, cheatin' gambler, it's yore turn t die.
Although my life was short, 'n my memories but brief, I WAS the slickest gambler
along o1' Sutters Crik.
There it sat over there, in little pieces, in the waste basket. Figured that's probably a good place fer it. Garbage cans seemed somehow even more personal now. Writin' was now added t readin', science stuff, investigatin things n thinking, as unapproved 'n unacceptable activities, all further muddlin' the existin' confusion of not only what these public school types didn't know, but what was it exactly they did know. Best t keep this stuff t yerself. Wrote 'n burned from then on out. This stuff fell inta the hands of teachers - - it'd be all over. One day, one fine day, it happened. As it had been carefully cultivated 'n nurtured in the public school system, there should be no reason t wonder in awe when out it blossomed in the classroom.
CHAPTER 6
There was this tiny, kinda slow upstairs, quiet runt of a kid from the Home (in fer alcoholic parents, likewise) who'd received more of the jabs, knuckles 'n ridicule from the teachers n kids than the rest of us, bearin these things silently. Course, some of the girls in their hand-me-down, flower-sack dresses got it pretty bad; any physical impairment didn't help either. Mankind (especially girl-kind) are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. 2 But, the runt got more'n his share, fer sure. This day an eraser accidentally fell offa his desk 'n bounced several times under his desk. The next thing we teacher, Big Guy, was standin' over the runt with a, "So you like to bounce things, eh?" With that he jerks the runt clean outta his desk, straight up in the air, by his hair, dangled him there fer a spell, 'n then up 'n drops him. With his desk seat half-way up 'n his knees over his desk, he came down in all kinds of hard places. God, he wanted t cry, not only fer the pain, but fer the humiliation as well, but he held
it back. Not a whimper. The class started laughin' as Big Guy began walkin' back t his desk. Then it happened. Nothin' was premeditated; it jus' came out. From the mouth of a stutterin', twitchin' ten year old came a simple question, "W-W-W-Wh-Wh-Why- d-d-d-di-di-did y-y-y-you d-d-d-do th-th-th-th-that?" From a mind that wanted t shout STOP!
STOP! n explain that this is not how its supposed t be, but couldnt get it out. The class immediately became silent. Nobody'd ever said nothin' like that t the Big Guy. He turned around but couldn't think of nothin' t say, realizin' that the whole class was lookin' at him 'n not at the inquirer of this interrogatin disturbance who had unintentionally stolen the show - - stolen what he needed most, a fix of sorts. He tried t say somethin but didnt finish, turnin awkwardly around n goin t his desk instead. The silence continued all the way till lunch, with the class starin at him whenever hed look up from his desk, waitin. From the looks on their faces, the kids from the Home was afraid fer their fellow comrade. Musin' it over, there was nothin' t fear, havin' merely asked a question what merited an answer. There'd been no screamin', bellerin', shoutin', 'r hysterics. It was hard enough jus' gettin' the words out, let alone throwin' in any theatrics. Nope, nothin' wrong with that question; even got it out in one blurp. That afternoon, ah yes, that afternoon, remember it well. Sittin' absorbed, readin' a good book after all the class work was finished, it became
evident that somethin' was silently goin' on in the classroom, an inklin'. Without lookin' up, there was Big Guy smirkin' 'n motionin' the class t look this way, while doin' a tippy-toe thing motionin' t Lucas, the huge Spanish kid, t sneak over this way 'n give someone the whacks, a bit of student administered justice. Lucas thought he was real tough 'cause he was so big 'n we was so small. We figured he'd been held back a couple years, bein' sorta slow upstairs. It appeared Big Guy feared Lucas somehow, leastwise he sure patronized him a lot. He'd get t do the whacks sometimes when "he" thought it was necessary, bringin' it t Big Guy's attention that one of us kids needed it. Lucas had been gettin' carried away with the spirit of the occasion as of late. Every time he whacked one of us, he tried t do it harder 'n better, so as t please the teacher 'n get some good laughs from the other outside kids in the classroom. He'd hit a kid a few days back sendin' his face inta the desk 'n given him a nice bloody nose. Lots of laughs. Well, now he was at it again, sneakin' over this way. Didn't take too much figurin' t realize there wasn't any other Home kids on this side of the room. By now most of the class was anxiously anticipatin' some pleasant entertainment, innocent amusement. Here come Lucas, as sneakily as his glee-filled, clumsy hulk could manage, t administer justice, get his thrills, approval. Lately he was needin' 'em as much as Big Guy. The whole thing only lasted a handful of seconds. Havin' done nothin' wrong, n' sure not wantin' t be made sport of by the likes of this crowd, there was an inward release of the responsibilities, absolved from all
allegiance,2 of the outcome of this matter. Coulda plastered Lucas, but that only woulda made matters worse. As it turned out, Lucas wasn't gonna be deprived of his thrills, enjoyable experience, fer nothin'. He quickened his pace, lest his thrill escape. Duckin' his wild swing, that amounted t a lot more'n his usual whacks, sent him stumblin' over another student's desk, plasterin' her a good one. This not only embarrassed him t no end, but also evoked moans of pain as he hit his shin n his arm on the desk. He quickly recovered, makin more wild swings across desks, hittin more students, whackin more shins, knuckles, n elbows. He then made a wild lunge across a desk t apprehend his subject. One needed a subject if justice was t be administered properly. His lunge caught him only the closet door - - in his mug, his flattened face blendin' in quite nice with the paneling. Havin' made no retaliatory effort whatsoever against Lucas, it appeared someone should. He had left three girls 'n a couple boys with bruises, bloody noses n lips (changin their giggles t cryin), n had attempted t selfdestruct hisself against desks, n was havin such a terrible time with the closet door. Someone yelled, Grab him! n a half dozen kids made a rush, with Lucas in the middle, stumblin' n lungin' towards ya. The situation was past reasonin', so it was time t go. Out the door, over the stair rail, 'n straight down a flight of stairs, through the air, 'n landin' in the midst of shrieks, howls, eeks, thumps 'n bumps, sendin' a large group of visitin' school board members, parents, 'n prominent local citizenry, scatterin' 'n bouncin' about the stairs like surprised chickens in a coop, with them lettin' loose with a
remarkable command of all those forbidden four letter words. Cussin 'n a-swearin' like troopers, them respectable ladies was. With Big Guy's henchmen not far behind, this was hardly the moment t delve inta all those appropriate niceties of civil folk which somehow seemed t be lost in this revealin' expose of these vermin's true nature. When it's time t go, it's time t go, not wantin' t overstay such a hearty welcome. Leavin' the large front door cracked 'n hangin' limp on its hinges, there was no thought of stickin' round the school grounds - stoppin' only after a couple hundred yards t turn round 'n watch Lucas, all by hisself, jus' comin' outta the school. Guess it surprised him t see his adversary standin' calmly, waitin' fer him with a cordial greetin', "Well, Lucas, it's jus' you 'n me." Notice, no stutterin'! With this last "jus' you 'n me", he came t a stumblin', gaspin' halt 'n looked round. There wasn't no Big Guy, 'n the supportin' mob had petered out someplace round the stairs. His gaspin', shakin', soft, flabby mass, after such a short sprint, showed what was always suspected: that his athletic prowess lay in his cunnin' 'n crafty ability t sneak up behind some kid, half his size, 'n splatter him with his hulkin' bulk. He probably never had t do no marchin', standin' in the hot sun, moppin' floors, scrubbin' toilets, diggin' ditches, 'r any other of those neat things. Then again, he'd already put out quite an effort, stumblin' over all those desks, bangin' his shins 'n other body parts, plasterin' all those little girls 'n boys, 'n that bout with the closet door; not t mention all those stairs, probably one at a time, 'n that short sprint, in his case a plod. Poor o1' Lucas was definitely reassessin' his concepts of hisself as a superior creature.
No longer deceivin' hisself, as he stood there alone, scared stiff 'n shakin'. It was as we always suspected: his brains consisted of two huge blobs of fatty tissue that hung n' jiggled from his posterior, trained 'n ready t respond t Big Guy's call, the blessed teacher of his tender years. Stories was now goin' through his head with new import. Stories 'bout kids bein' in the Home fer beatin' up their o1' man 'r o1' lady, hittin' teachers, fightin' cops, arson, drugs, assault 'n battery, 'n some kids bein' able t beat up two 'r three outside kids at the same time, leavin' 'em a pulpy mess. He was a good half foot taller 'n a lot heavier, but after hearin' a calm, smilin', "Well Lucas, ya wanna have it out?", he turned tail 'n lit back t the school, t safety, reinforcements, security, 'n sympathy. He wasn't takin' no chances. Probably best he did. Them wasnt jus stories. After doin nothin more than runnin away from n avoidin any confrontation, not havin hit, pushed, threatened, 'r even touched any student, as witnessed by a teacher 'n a whole classroom fulla students, it was interestin' t hear the school's charges of bein' responsible fer violently attackin' 'n hurtin' six students, disruptin' the classroom, 'n malicious damage t school property, that was delivered t the Home's new child counselor. She sensed there wasn't any great desire t talk about it, so she didn't do any pesterin' 'r press the issue. Respected her fer that. Figured she had the report 'n that was good enough. What else did she need? Words was hard t come by 'n more 'r less worthless.
Later that evenin' a couple of the Home kids, that was in the classroom when it all happened, mentioned they'd told the counselor what'd happened. A few days later she asked if goin' t another school sounded good. The new public school didn't have no kids from the Home goin' there, so it turned out all right, as neither the teachers 'r students had been trained t deal with us kinda kids. Everybody jus' left this new kid go on his stutterin', blinkin' way. The only difference they might have noticed was that this new kid always had a book, wherever he went. Perhaps, in reality, school didn't exist no more. There was better ways t become educated, less forebodin' ways.
CHAPTER 7
Someplace in all our backgrounds there was parents of some sort, bits 'n pieces of 'em anyway, now faded inta the woodwork, occasionally glimpsed but, fer the most part, unseen, unfelt 'n servin' no useful function. It was all we could do t make sense of our world, let alone try t understand this problem-laden element of a society that lived in another world unknown t us, that dropped by once 'r twice a year t unload their troubles. Mostly users 'n losers. So there was a certain amount of confusion in bein' called t the Home's counselors office at the end of the school year 'n bein' informed, "You are to be released into your mother's custody." There was no response 'r feelin' of attachment one way 'r the other, knowin' little 'r nothin' about the person. That summer was not t shed any new light on her unclear function. Aside from a short, couple day visit t her parents up north 'n comin' back south
t rent a small apartment by the ocean, she literally disappeared, along with two years of hard earned money the Home had given her, with their partin' comment, "You will be better able to take care of it," returnin' only after a couple of weeks, drunk, whiskeystenched, screamin', kickin', hittin', clawin', 'n throwin' whiskey bottles. So it was out the door 'n down the stairs again. Visited the place occasionally throughout the summer, but it was apparent she hadn't spent much time there either, except t sleep off a drunk 'n leave the place reekin' of vomit 'n filth 'n cluttered with empty bottles. Bein' alone was nothin' new, jus' another kind of alone. Findin' food 'n makin' do was no big problem. Institution food had only been an unpleasant ritual t be observed fer survival sake. Whatever it was, it could always be made cold, greasy, burnt, n nauseatingly salty. So as far as food went, anything'd do. Foragin' proved enjoyable 'n enlightenin'. Garbage cans produced a refreshin' treat. The raw vegetables, a bit crushed 'n bruised, sure had a great flavor 'n didn't give ya the stomach cramps 'n stingin burps. "So this is what food tastes like." The business of livin' involved more'n jus' food. There was this new freedom t be looked inta which seemed t be magnified by this mysteriously invitin' ocean, fulla unknown things t be discovered. Havin suffered a bout with pneumonia a few years back, due t too much waistdeep enthusiasm explorin the chillin waters of tide pools, this wasn't no first
encounter with the ocean, but ya can't let first impressions get in the way of gettin' t know somebody. Nobody's perfect. Anyway, this was the first meetin' under these conditions, with one's psychological bearin's thus aligned. Whatever disturbin' situations was grindin' away 'n perplexin' yer mind, they was dwarfed when placed next t what was goin' on out there in that immenseness. Not that ya knew what was goin' on out there, but, whatever it was, it sure made yer problems seem insignificant. If that thing could swing it, then ya should have no trouble at all managin' yer minuscule existence. Upon realizin' this, a strange new calmness took over; a door was opened that led t escape 'n freedom from screwballs, religious dingbats, do-gooders, 'n purgers. Some kinda compellin', primitive urge t associate with what was goin' on out there was drawin' ya t return tsomeplace you'd left before there was places ya hadda be. A question arose. How was ya t conduct yerself on the "outs" when all ya had fer trainin' came from perverts 'n deviants - not t mention the influence that yer fellow inmates, mostly thieves 'n young con artists, had on ya? By now it was sure that what was right 'n what was wrong was the same all along, dependin' on whose hand held the pen that signed, "You are free, 'r ya might have been." The world didn't owe ya nothin', so ya expected nothin'. Ya pays yer dollar, 'n ya takes yer chances. A guy learns t keep his eyes 'n ears open 'n his mouth shut, 'n no tellin' what he can pick up. Guess ya might
call that some sort of an education. If it's all ya got, then it's all ya got. A fella could do worse. After a heap of contemplation, it was decided jus' t wander about this new society, see what it had t offer, learn whatcha could and, in general, take her as she came. It didn't take too much of this "take her as she came" business before interestin' things popped up. Findin' a place t sleep didn't turn out t be no big deal, as the long fishin' 'n amusement wharf provided lots of nooks, overturned boats, empty sheds, 'n storehouses crammed with old fishin' nets t more than take care of whatever sleepin' 'n nighttime privacy ya needed. Food didn't turn out too difficult t come by either, as alleys filled with garbage cans reaped a rich harvest, remember? There was things, however, that scroungin' jus' couldn't turn up, even if ya really kept yer eyes peeled. A few bucks would sure come in handy; but fer a 10 year old stutterin' 'n blinkin' kid tryin' t remain as unnoticed as possible (sure didn't want no attention), small jobs was hard t come by, even if ya was willin' t work hard as the dickens. Predicaments wasn't new. Up till now life generally amounted t nothin' more'n gettin' throwed from one rock 'n a hard place t another, with you not havin' any say in the matter. Well, life was still true t form, only now ya wasn't working' against no stacked decks. Whatever pickle ya wound up in, ya at least had a fightin' chance of weaselin' outta it, gettin' a
fair shake by bein' able t use yer own wits. Nobody really carin' one way 'r the other what happened t ya had its advantages. Ya got parents, ya got excuses. Ya makes yer own decisions, ya got no excuses. This was gonna be a real challenge. "You are free, 'r ya might have been," all hinged on yer own wits. Poolin' all the bits 'n pieces of ten years together 'n tryin' t sort it out t mean somethin' seemed useless. There jus' wasn't much t work with, but what there was was gonna hafta do. If ya couldn't get no job t get the few things ya couldn't scrounge, then there was certain options opened t ya. One, ya could literally go 'n "pick-up" them things whatcha needed without payin' fer 'em, like most of the kids ya grew up with; 'r two, ya could create jobs fer yerself; 'r three, ya could do without. Before now ya never had no cause t rip anything off 'cause there'd always been an honest way t get whatcha needed. Only now, there was a cause: independence 'n freedom. This changed yer whole way of thinkin', it did. There wasn't gonna be no whole hog jumpin' inta this option, at the expense of yer scruples, but, none the less, it was somethin' that hadda be seriously considered. Though the thought was rife with hazards, it still had its possibilities. The Home kids was always gettin' caught. It appeared that they either didn't do no thinkin' at all, 'r they somehow wanted t get caught. Doesn't sound right, does it? But
they's always braggin' about how many times they'd been busted; seemed dumb, 'n doing things without thinkin' seemed dumb too. Didn't wanna do no dumb things, no, sir. There wasn't nothin' them kids stole that they really needed. Most folks knowed what kids stole, 'n any kid headin' fer them things was plain dumb. Why, youd hafta be a real meathead r have somethin wrong with ya inside t even try snatchin them things with a million eyes a-watchin. No, you'd hafta go where nobody was a-watchin' 'r expectin' t get the odds in yer favor. Then again, who was gonna be suspectin' a kid with a quart of milk 'r a can of beans. Keep yer profile low. On t the task. After spendin' time studyin' folks in stores doin' the things they do (aimlessly wanderin', pickin' up 'n puttin' down things, lookin' at lists, fumblin' with change, 'n unthinkingly acceptin' the cashier's total), it was time t work out some strategy. New approaches 'n philosophies was in order; think big, different. T copy these rituals wasn't enough; ya hadda get inta the spirit of the thing. Never get desperate; avoid it. Get inta action before ya hit bottom. Practice, jus' in case ya really hadda use it. Do it as though ya had money in yer pocket. Lots of confidence! Then, when yer ready t pull her off, always have enough bread t cover ya; besides it givin' ya lots of confidence, it was natural, not crooked, t be fergetful. Establish yerself in stores where ya wanted t be known as an honest kid, which ya was, as t fit inta yer plan. Never take the owner
as a dope, a mistake most kids made; give him his credit due. He, too, was a kid once. Whatever ya do, do it right. Train em all. Leave em feelin it was a pleasure doin business with ya. If ya saw yerself comin up short tomorrow, go inta action today -outta harms way. Mind ya, can't very well disclose the exact techniques what was used; wouldn't be ethical, perfessional. There sure was some dandies. Nobody ever suspected. When there was no more need, they was laid t rest. They might be put to a use fer which they wasn't intended. Whatever that means. Yes, sir! Raised her to an art. This whole strategy wasn't intended fer some adventure in rippin' someone off (gettin' by was hairy enough), but a seldom used, last resort - only if this creatin' yer own jobs didn't keep ya in the black. This freedom business was a sight more trouble than you'd been led t believe in the books, but it sure beat havin' yer mind stuffed inta a closet. At any price, it was well worth it. After musin' on these three options, a compromise 'r bargain, ya might call it, was struck. Be honest if ya could, 'n sorta if ya couldn't. When freedom's at stake, anything seemed rational. On t makin' an honest buck. "Go west young man," seemed t ring of opportunity. Well, the only west that was left was sandy beaches, long fishin' 'n amusement piers, 'n the ocean; but they all held one thing in common - - gobs of people. The possibilities was worth lookin' inta.
What kinda action could a fella get inta t make a few bucks, remain anonymous, 'n do it honestly? A fella might find some kinda niche on the fringes t work. There was people a-fishin' everywhere: on the beach, piers, 'n in boats. Guess they was after fish. A clue. Fishin' was fun, but the thought never occurred that a fella could make a few bucks on the side outta it. After gettin' t know a lotta good folks that came down regular t catch a meal 'n findin' out what fish they was after, another strategy was in the makin's: Catch 'n sell the fish that was in the most demand. Folks was always lookin' fer a good deal; but, if ya hadda spend as much time as they did acatchin' so few fish, then there wouldn't be no such thing as a good deal. Couldn't be no harm in gettin' t know these fish that everybody was puttin' in so much time a-tryin' t catch, now, could there? In the past there'd always been animals in the hills around the Home, 'n, whenever ya had the chance, ya could go out 'n look at all the critters. There was rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, birds, lizards, snakes, 'n sometimes a coyote; 'n, if ya could sit quiet long enough, ya could learn a thing 'r two about how they was makin' do as best they could. Didn't seem like it should be no different a-studyin' the eatin n livin habits of fish, ceptin they was under water. It was worth a shot. A fella could do what he could n see what come of it. Seemed that most anything that had fins was swimmin' around here someplace.
There was flounder, halibut, smelt, mackerel, cod, 'n lots more wanderin' around under the pier, 'n tuna, yellowtail, barracuda, sea kelp, bass, croakers, bonita, big halibuts, sharks, 'n fish that couldn't possibly have no names 'cept strange t be caught on the boats 'r the large barge anchored five miles offshore. They was there fer the takin' if ya could jus' figure out how t do it. The pier was big 'n filled with lots of buildin's fer business 'n amusement. Most of it was way high off the water, around thirty t forty feet, so ya wasn't gonna get much direct fish observation here, 'cept what the people was a-catchin'. At the end of this big pier, there was a smaller 'n lower pier where ya could fish much closer t the water. It was under this end pier, on the crossbeams halfway between the deck 'n the water, that class started. The deck above blocked out the sun so ya could see deep inta the water 'n observe fish dartin' around the barnacle 'n muscle encrusted pilin's, feedin' 'n doin' fish things. Figurin' out exactly what they liked t eat 'n exactly where they got it turned inta quite a chore. If ya was gonna do it, ya hadda do it right. When the tide went out, ya could get at the huge clumps of mussels attached t the pilins'. There was all manner of crabs, shrimps, 'n worms that was livin' in these clumps. After tryin' t sort out the different animals so ya could recognize 'em, ya hadda see which ones tasted the best, givin' fish the benefit of knowin' what tasted good 'n what didn't.
They wiggled 'n crunched as ya chomped down on 'em, jus' like a fish might do. The taste wasn't that bad. Though the shrimp 'n crabs had the best flavor, the mussels had the most meat, if ya could get the hang of chewin' up them shells. When the people was cleanin' the fish they'd caught, it gave ya a chance t examine their stomachs, 'n nobody seemed t mind a kid pokin' inta the innards. In no time flat it was observed that what the folks was a-catchin' their few fish on wasn't what the fish ate naturally. Most the baits they used was old, stinky, 'n didn't taste good at all. Different fish seemed t specialize in certain foods. The answer was then t pick the bait fer the fish ya wanted t catch 'n put it where he was a-lookin' fer it. This quickly brought in a few bucks. Sometimes ya could share what you'd caught with someone jus' t get a conversation goin'; sorta see what they was like inside. A few pounds of fish might bring ya twenty pounds of information, enjoyment, 'n education if ya gave it in good faith, expectin' nothin' in return but a casual conversation, pleasant 'n enrichin' fer both parties. Could ya strike a better bargain fer worth? Figured ya lost out when the exchange was monetary. Most folks was content jus' t catch a bucket of small perch, a sure thing, than chance goin' home empty handed if they tried t catch large ones, which was harder. So if ya had a string of large pilin' perch, they went fast.
There was a few o1' gals that went after the large ones too, 'n most people got a laugh at how they did it. They'd get a clump of small mussels n gently pry em open n slip a hook in each one n then lower the whole shebang on a clothesline inta the water. Them large perch would crunch n swallow hook 'n all. Guess they'd looked inta their stomachs 'n found 'em full of crunched mussels. Got pretty good at crunchin' 'n swallowin' mussels after practicin' it awhile, but crabs always tasted better. The o1' gals only caught the large perch up t a couple pounds, not the huge ones, as they wasn't exactly fishin' with all the facts. They'd always ask ya where them huge three t four pound perch came from that they'd jus' got such a good deal on. Ya hadda be vague enough t protect yer source, but believable enough fer 'em t think ya really didn't know whatcha was doin' after all, writin' it off t beginner's luck. As time went by, techniques was perfected. Spendin' so much time on, around, 'n under the wharf had its rewards if ya was observant. At the first crack of dawn, before anybody was around, them hugh perch would come up 'n sun themselves fer a few minutes each day, lyin' flat on the surface, sorta hidden between boats that was tied up t the small floatin' dock. There they was, jus' a-waitin' t be got. How easy it seemed. The first attempts was successfully in vain, whatever that means. This is not t say it failed 'r succeeded. The prongs crumbled on the spear point that came offa the shaft, that was too short, that was impatiently thrown
with not too much accuracy; but it did hit the fish. In no time at all workmanship, timin', 'n patience was producin' twice as many three t four pounders in a fraction of the time. The most 'n biggest fish was caught way out on the boats 'n barge; but gettin' out there was another thing. Fer ninety cents ya could stay out all day 'n night on the five mile barge. There was lotsa one t three-pound greenback mackerel which fetched three fer a quarter back on the docks. The Jews was always waitin' t buy yer whole gunny sack full. There was also barracuda, Spanish mackerel, bonita, halibut, sand dabs, sharks, 'n gobs of whatever happened t go by. Spent many a night fishin' on the o1' barge way out on the ocean. Jus' as peaceful as could be. Besides, ya could get yer ninety cents back many times, dependin' on how good ya was at yer trade. Fer a buck 'n a half ya could spend around three hours a-fishin' on a crowded boat, 'r fer five bucks ya could spend the whole day 'n go out twenty miles fer tuna. But this all day trip gotcha back t the docks too late t sell any of yer fish, since everybody had gone home. A bad investment. If ya could occasionally see yer way t spare the buck 'n a half, the half day boats could be made t pay off. Sam looked like a large barrel with arms 'n legs pokin' outta holes. He wasn't very tall, but he was all muscle, tough 'n gristly. From his gnarled hands, weathered face, o1' rubber boots, tattered sweater, 'n aged seaman's cap, he spoke of the timeless
struggle that men faced when they went t sea. If it was in the ocean, he knew somethin' 'bout it, bein' a resident hisself as far back as any could remember. Right now he was first mate on a large charter boat that left every mornin' at the crack of dawn with forty t sixty folks t try their luck. He'd often noticed ya scurryin' around in these early hours, on the crossbeams under the wharf, catchin' fish t sell; so one day he up 'n asked if ya wouldn't wanna give him a hand occasionally. He found ya more'n willin' t take care of loadin' up cases of daily supplies, helpin' customers with the gaffin' 'n cleanin' of their fish in exchange fer fare, lunch, 'n some good fishin'. There never was no bargain 'r chores ever set out, jus' two people more'n willin' t help, gettin' together. He was quiet, but not near as quiet as George the skipper. They'd let the need do the talkin'. Somehow Betty, the real nice ticket lady, was in on all this good fortune. Yes, sir, bow 'n stern, starboard 'n port, somethin' worth knowin'. More'n willin'! The beach 'n surf was next on the list fer possibilities. The best time was when most everybody left in the late afternoon. There'd only be some surf fishermen 'n beach-combers working the beach. As it turned out, there really wasn't much available fer turnin' surf fishin' t yer advantage. About all that was caught, besides a few surf perch 'n small flounders, was lots of shovelnose 'n sand sharks which wasn't very marketable. Gettin' t know a few beachcombers, on the other hand, proved a valuable
insight inta the nature of things. There wasn't very many of 'em along the miles of beaches, two 'r three, 'n ya wouldn't even know they existed unless ya was there around sunset when it was gettin' pretty chilly 'n everybody else was gone, so it wasn't like they swarmed the beaches. They'd drag their wooden 'n mesh strainers through the sand t pick up any lost change 'r trinkets people had lost in the sand. If they found any rings theyd try t get em back t the owners, no charge. It was hard work, but a guy could come up with three 'r four bucks on a good evenin'. Enough t help ya get by. It didn't turn out quite that easy. There was hundreds of small shops, stalls, 'n carts all along the beach, sellin' everything ya could imagine t hustle up a livin' as best they could. Competition was fierce but tolerable, as long as there wasn't no greedy cut-throats around. Well, there was, n they called themselves the city council. What they amounted t was a few shady businessmen makin laws n ordinances t legally eliminate the competition: small family operations, outside vendors with their carts, 'r anybody else makin' a buck that they thought they could get at. One guy on the city council occasionally gave a shot at beachcombin'. He didn't much care fer the hard work involved in strainin' sand but saw the possibilities of profit by expandin' 'n motorizin' the operation 'n eliminatin' the competition. He got the city t put up signs prohibitin' beachcombin', under the guise of fer the public good, 'n even
got the city t pay fer the machine he wound up usin'. Figured he'd used words t pull it off. This all proved t be a good lesson on how government worked: unscrupulous sorts gangin' up on some guy fer a few bucks. A little honest hard work, jus' enough t help ya get by, sure wasn't the great American dream fer everybody; but it mighta been somebody's. So that's where all those decent 'n respectable rich kids wound up - - in politics. They sure had the right upbringin' 'n trainin'. Anyway, even though there was good sweat t be had, ya sure didnt wanna get tangled up with no government officials - thugs in an alley. No, sir, wasnt greedy n sure didnt need money that bad t get involved in politics. There was never no good r bad; jus opportunities t learn from, if ya could only figure out what it was ya was supposed t learn. Sometimes it was easier than others. Sam missed a day once, n another guy showed up t do his job. Now, one of Sam's jobs was t collect the jackpot money. Anybody could enter this contest if ya had an extra buck 'n felt like ya might catch the biggest fish, sharks excluded, 'n collect the whole pot. Well, up till now, never did much thinkin' 'bout enterin' this jackpot 'cause there was always too much other things t think about. 'Sides, it smacked of gamblin' with hard earned bucks against an empty stomach. But, this particular day, with a few extra bucks in yer pocket, 'n havin' done pretty good
fishin' the last couple days, a whimsical streak asked, "Why not give her a try?" It was really more of an experiment of skill affectin' chance. The day went good, bringin' in a couple halibut - one over twenty pounds. The closest competition was a sheephead, around ten t twelve pounds, brought in by a group of very loud, drunken businessmen - one of which had only been saved from fallin' overboard by the quick thinkin' of a couple other sober fishermen. When the time came t weigh in the fish fer the jackpot, yer much larger halibut was outweighed by the smaller sheephead, which was bulgin' 'n lumpy with lead weights stuffed inta its stomach 'n intestines, some even visible in its mouth. The guy that was takin' Sam's place that day did the weighin' in real fast with a gruff, "Sorry kid," 'n even let a few weights accidently fall outta the smaller fish's mouth as he was takin' it off the balance hook. Seein' him later empty a pile of slimy lead sinkers outta the Sheephead's stomach 'n split the jackpot money with the drunken businessmen, with everybody a-laughin', smarted a bit but sharpened ya up. Win 'r lose, ya could come up broke if ya didn't keep yer eyes open. A guy'd be a fool not t be wise. Didn't say nothin' t Sam when he came back the next day; but, later on, Betty mentioned he'd found out what'd happened 'n that the guy wasn't gonna be workin' on any of the boats 'r any place else around here, ever again. Sam never did talk about it. Jus' something that needed takin' care of. Gettin' conned outta the jackpot, around thirty bucks, didn't turn out so bad after
all. Where else could ya get a real insight inta these two extremes of human character without usin' words. A bargain at any price. Don't ever do no gamblin' was added t never askin' fer help. There was other kids you'd see every once in a while, but they was either doin' nothin' 'r gettin' inta mischief, not havin' much else tdo. Neither one of these activities could do ya any good. Best t keep yer distance. Then there was the fierce longin' fer good books. There was a library in town, 'n it sure was temptin'; but, as a kid, you'd learned it was real chancy t be caught readin' a book, especially if there was any rulers lyin' around. Bein' sure they wouldn't permit no kid a-browsin' around the library, unattended, 'n the idea of checkin' out a book was out of the question. Why, they'd probably want yer parents names (?) 'n yer address (a shack 'r overturned boat on the wharf). Well, right there ya was doomed, even if ya gave 'em some phony address. They'd get t snoopin' around 'n wind up doin' their do-gooder things on ya. Even oversympathetic adults could mess ya up. It was strategy time again. It took some thinkin'; but an idea came t mind that might fill the gap, 'n yer areadin' it. Why couldn't a fella jus' create yer own book, in yer mind of course, of all the things worth rememberin'. Ya can't only be ferever a-readin'. Theres gotta be some doin.
Probably wouldnt be no Treasure Island r anything Clemens woulda stirred up; but it would be whatcha had, n that would hafta make do. There could be wiggly, little, crusty things youd crunched n tasted; fish youd outfoxed 'n sold; a few great folks you'd met thatd risen above civilized society t become real human beins: a seaman, a little o1' lady substitute teacher, a maintenance man. 'N then there was Henry. As time went by, there might be more: books 'n parchments worth the readin'; creatures inside you'd wrestled with 'n the Beast that led. Maybe even a few ideas 'n strategies could be thrown in (books don't always hafta be about things), like a fella couldn't hardly miss thinkin' about all the stuff floatin' around out there. Peculiar how things drift up t the beach. Oh, there was wind 'n currents goin' every which way, but things always wound up on the beach. Probably on the other side of the world they wound up on the beach as well. Course there was gravity 'n tides, but somethin' else was affectin' these objects who only appeared t be halted by the beach. The earth was spinnin'; but maybe the earth was itself a tiny particle being pushed 'r pulled someplace until it got stopped by some beach? Earth a piece of driftwood? Gotta think on that. Then, also, like maybe the ocean was tellin' us we should be livin' closer t the soothin', natural rhythm of its waves 'n maybe even followin' the pattern of its changin' tides t rise 'n go t bed? A kinda unique frequency, a pulse, like a giant heart, that everything else in the ocean lived by, comin' 'n goin', feedin' 'n reproducin' by this clock. Then, also, you's probably
doin' all this business stuff of sellin' fish all wrong. Business folks'd have words fer everything t get ya all tangled up; but, right now, as poor as it was, you'd jus' hafta settle fer two folks strikin' a deal, both satisfied 'n friends fer more deals; 'n then, not t forget, there was sparklin' garbage cans 'n incinerators thatcha could sit back 'n look at, proud as could be; 'n who knows what else would turn up? Wouldn't probably nobody ever read it if it was ever written down, but it'd be yers 'n ya could read it any 'ol time ya wanted t, even in front of teachers, with them not even knowin' 'r bein' able t take it away 'r do anything about it. Yes, sir! The idea had some merit. As the summer passed the ocean had done its trick, 'n all the religious crazies, closet stuffers, 'n kid whackers seemed t belong t an unreal world that somehow couldn't possibly have ever existed - - a bad dream. Life was pretty challengin' but well worth the livin'. Livin' on the fringes, ya developed a kinda "skin of yer teeth" approach t gettin' by. Sorta grew on ya. Got a real flair fer it after awhile -livin', that is. A little was more'n enough; 'n when ya got the cool 'n quiet, ya come out ahead. If ya stayed true t the sea, it'd take care of ya. It was an "It'd" now, a personal thing, more'n jus' a livin'. There was never no need fer showers 'r baths, as a plunge in the surf'd clean ya right up, especially all the cuts youd got. Youd hardly even notice em unless ya made the mistake of washin em in fresh water. Theyd start smartin n get red 'n swollen until ya got 'em back in the ocean, 'n then they'd get better right off. A
guy don't need no extra smartin'. There was other folks what got drawn t the sea 'n let it work it's spell on 'em. Them what got real close, close enough t feel the urge of kinship 'n do some thinkin' 'bout things, them was the ones the sea had provided fer good conversation. Then there was this apprenticeship t zillions of strange 'n peculiar crusty 'n scaly citizens of the deep -- all willin' t provide instruction, puzzles, 'n great mysteries t keep yer mind busy with learnin'. Ya never seen nothin' like it; such excitin' knowledge, free fer the takin'. Why, ya knowed the ocean was right in there rootin' fer ya with all the help ya was gettin' from it's citizens. Like bein' privy t a great unwritten book, it was. Now, if yer readin' these loony goin's on 'n figurin' there'd sure be better ways of doin' things, well, yer probably right on all counts; but ya gotta remember, yer no longer ten. Seems like kids around that age got a corner on dumb. Don't know if it was curiosity 'r concern that accounted fer the occasional visits over the months t the filthy, vomit 'n whiskey-stenched apartment, cluttered with bottles. There sure wasn't many feelin's of attachment t this person. How could anybody live like this? Bein' attacked by this screechin', clawin', bottle throwin', hysterical, drunken woman, on the couple times she'd been there, sure didn't help matters any. When she hit the bottle, she hit everything. It musta been curiosity, jus' t see if she was still there, that led t this last visit.
The apartment stunk, reekin' worse than ever, of stagnant barf 'n pee. There was empty whiskey bottles in the bath tub, sink, toilet, cupboards, under the sofa, bed, chairs, on the window sills, stove, refrigerator, 'n everywhere else ya looked. She was lyin' on the bed, lookin' more dead'n alive, with bloody, red vomit all over, sick as could be 'n needin' some sort of help, 'r she'd wind up killin' herself. The attention that would be drawn in gettin' her help would probably end this freedom stuff. Figurin' the world would come t an end as soon as the authorities was notified, there was still time t go down t the ocean 'n pass a few last peaceful moments sayin' good-bye t a good friend. Knowin' ya couldn't escape the hand of justice ferever, it was bound t happen. Summer was already over, 'n any little kid runnin' around not attendin' school would be awful suspicious. No tellin' when a fella could get back t his education if he hadda go back t school. If there'd been any idea of what lied ahead in the next weeks, 'r years fer that matter, it mighta been wiser jus' t keep walkin' down that beach. The authorities arrived 'n carted the deviants off t their respected institutions, so much baggage. Seems like this is where we first came in.
CHAPTER 8
It was back t "Juvie", 'r as those on the "outs" - judges, counselors, teachers 'n other staid officials - called it, "Juvenile Hall", each syllable harshly punctuated with threatenin' sobriety. Ya see, Juvie was fer those on the "ins", 'n Juvenile Hall was fer those on the "outs". Guess that's the ins 'n the outs of the whole matter. Anyway, Juvie was home away from home. Juvie was divided inta two main sections: one fer the older 'n badder kids, which was itself divided between the boys 'n the girls'; 'n another much older, but smaller section connected t the outside of the main institute fer the non-violent, little kids jus' waitin' fer placement. It was this older buildin', with its different wings fer boys 'n fer girls, that is of interest now. The buildin' was as important as what went on in it. The place wasn't only a holdin' area while ya waited on judges, court orders, P.O.s (Probation Officers) 'n dispersal, but also t accustom ya t another way of life, another way of thinkin'. Whatever the ocean did t unleash yer feelin's of freedom, hope, 'n imagination, with its open expanses, poundin' waves, salty breezes, 'n unlimited variety of life, Juvie did t suppress, with a passion, any of these errant feelin's, with its towerin', unendin' maze of depressin', solid, gray walls of menacin' concrete, tipped with miles of steel mesh 'n barbed wire, punctuated with massive steel doors riveted with awesome locks. Bein' as us little kids wasn't no great security risk, they didn't need so many high
concrete walls with steel mesh, barbed wire, 'n steel doors (like they did next door) t keep yer minds occupied, but they had enough t let ya know ya wasn't goin' no place. Most of the inside rooms didn't have locks. They even had a small, gravel yard where ya could see the railroad tracks outside through an iron grated fence only about seven feet high. Wouldn'ta done ya no good t run 'cause they'da put ya next door with the big kids. A view of the outs is better'n none at all. Old 'n haggely, inside 'n out, was the best way t describe her. Dressed in what appeared t be a flour sack, unaltered from its previous contents, she hollered 'n jerked 'n wouldn't stand fer no stutterin' 'r questions. She did the hollerin' 'n the kids got the jerkin' from day one. She'd see a kid 'n it was holler 'n jerk. Took about a second t learn t stay outta her way. Sorta reminded ya of school. The kids said she was really crazy, 'n them kids really knew about crazies, havin' met a bunch of 'em from other institutions; but, on the first day ya didn't know all these things, so it didn't turn out so hot. With a holler 'n a jerk, "You clean the porch," 'n with a stutter 'n a question, "Whwh-wh-wh-what p-p-p-p-porch?" With a holler 'n a jerk, she drug ya by the ear down a long hallway, through a couple sets of swingin' doors, around a corner t the right, through some more swingin' doors, around another corner t the left, out some huge doors, 'n onta a dirty brick porch in an alley passageway facin' a huge concrete wall. "This porch, you idiot." After more stutterin', hollerin', jerkin' ears, hallways, 'n doors, the closet fer cleanin' tools was located. Sweepin' the dirty porch was relaxin' until the silence was broken by the porch doors flyin' open with a, "Use a mop, you idiot." It took more stutterin' 'n jerkin' t find where t get the water, as the closet didn't have none. "In the latrine, you idiot." That dirty brick porch would be mud without first sweepin' it clean. What's a fella t do? Gotta follow orders. That didn't do no good either 'cause she was right back out there in a couple minutes with a, "One more time
and I'll lock you up." This made no sense at all; but, true t her word, back she came in less than a minute with a funny lookin' mad on her face, raised eyebrows, big, sorta detached eyes, 'n tightly clenched lips that spit out a sharp-tongued, "I warned you that was the last time." With shades of a housemother, only worser, she called a guard; 'n with a jerk 'n a, "We'll show you," it was down the brick stairs, through a steel door in the tall concrete wall, inta a buildin' smellin' of laundry, down some stairs, n inta a dark basement hallway lined with steel doors guardin tiny six by eight concrete isolation cells. All that was left, after the steel door was slammed shut with a thuddin' clang, was some steel slats fer a bed, barely visible in the darkness. A very dim haze filtered through a small, dirty, steel-meshed, barred window way high up. There wasn't no john, pot, 'r anything t use; jus' hadda hold it. The cell was like an icebox. Didn't do ya no good t sit on the steel slats 'cause they was even colder. Gotta keep movin'! Even with hundreds of laps around the tiny cell, the chill had set in pretty good by late night when the steel door opened again. The other little kids knew all about these "breakin' sessions" that o1' crazy 'n her guard used on new kids. A kind of depressin', sick, hopelessness comes over ya now, years later, jus' thinkin' 'bout it as yer tryin' t sort through faded notes t record it. Fer the first couple weeks, whenever she'd pass ya, she'd come up with a, "See you learned your lesson!" Didn't appear t matter much whatcha was a-doin' at the time, it all seemed t be symbolic of some lesson ya was supposed t have learned. 'Bout the only lesson any of the kids ever figured out was that the o1' hag 'n her flunky guard came from the same banana tree. T keep yer mind busy, ya made tiny, miniature things outta twigs 'n bark as tools t feed yer ever present hunger t calculate things, seen n unseen; 'n so findin' out from a girl in the yard one day that she had some classic comic books 'n other readin'
material in her room that she was willin' t share seemed too good t be true. The fact that she was a good lookin' Spanish girl, with an impish glimmer in her eyes, didn't mean near as much as the classic comic books she had in her room. All that was necessary was t pick up the books outside her door after lineup. Naive! Not havin' ever got involved with girls preserved yer innocence but didn't do nothin' fer yer worldliness. Life was already too confusin', let alone botherin' about gettin' tangled up with girls; but, nevertheless, they was somethin' that hadda be dealt with, one way 'r the other. Up till now the standard approach had been t generally avoid 'em as much as possible. Even early contact with 'em back in the Home had lead t suspicions that they was up t no good. They always appeared t be ready t meet someplace. Some, even more ready! Like the stories about the twins in the little girls' dorm, both under twelve, who'd meet at night with boys under their dorm. Then there was the very real incident of the good-lookin' thirteen year-old blonde. One day at the Home, when everyone else was supposed t be gone, her "upforward" advances 'n propositions, not t mention the pungency of her natural scent, scared the dickens outta a wide-eyed, dumbfounded, stutterin' nine year-old, takin' so much breath away t hardly get an excuse out as he headed fer the hills. He was still runnin, a year later, when he knocked on that door t her room t get some comic books, n she answered, Come in. You can run away from somethin long enough until it stares ya right in the face, n there it was a-starin atcha with its potato sack dress hiked up t her chin, anxiously wigglin. The whole room was filled with her. What a disgustin way t be hoodwinked - - bein plied with comic books. Fer a twelve year old, she sure knew how t tempt a guy, and, from the way things was a-goin' lately, there didn't seem t be a lick of innocence left in any of 'em. Ya wasn't supposed t do no idle wanderin' around after ya went back t yer
rooms, but the risk was well worth it if ya stood a chance of gettin' some readin' material. It was discouragin' t find that there really wasn't no classic comic books at all -- jus' her a-lyin' there smilin', stark as could be. Left in disgust. The ol' hag was wanderin' the halls 'n intercepted ya on the way back t yer room 'n grabbed hold of ya 'n started jerkin' ya 'n shoutin' obscene accusations. Didn't understand hardly a thing she said, but it musta been good 'n juicy, the way she was gettin' all thrilled up. God, her mind was filthy! She wasn't about t listen t anything but her own rantin' 'n ravin'. Who cared what she thought anyway? It wasn't important. There wasn't nothin' in this whole place that was important. Let her think what she wanted. It sorta caught her off guard when she saw her threats of solitary confinement 'n other punishments wasn't havin' their usual terrifyin' effects 'n gave up after awhile, her rantin's turnin' t vague mumblin's as she dismissed ya back t yer room. This whole affair with women only reinforced whatcha already suspected: that, as a lot, they was up t no good. After a month 'r so, they transferred ya t another institution.
CHAPTER 9
Located way out in the country, it was another low security, holdin' area fer younger kids, with both boys 'n girls dorms located in the same long buildin'. There wasn't no guards, crazies, 'r locks on any of the doors, 'n the cyclone fence that surrounded the huge playin' field wasn't guarded either. The fence even had holes under it that the kids used t climb under t get at some walnut trees in the next field. You could even crawl under the front gate if ya wanted t run, but there wasn't really no need to. The kids - mostly comin' from homes broken up by alcohol, drugs, incest, beatin's, desertions, killin's, 'n suicides -was pretty decent 'n helpful, 'n the housemothers 'n counselors didn't want nobody's life t be more miserable than it already was. Life was less of a routine, which meant it stood a chance of a little variety 'n
freedom. Fer one thing, ya didn't hafta ask t take a pee. There was even some kids that pissed out in the huge field when they felt the urge -- a great feelin'! That probably don't sound like much, but t institutional kids what was use t bein' told t hold it until it was time t take a pee, when everybody else hadda take a pee, it was a luxury. It didn't make no difference; eat, drink, get up, go t bed, wash, play, talk, listen, stand, pee, 'r whatever, there was a time fer everything. That seemed t be the general direction life was headin'. Maybe it was all a giant dictatin' institution. All together now, one, two, three, _________. (Fill in the activity of yer choice). Yes, sir! Better find yerself a bush while ya still gotta chance. With kids comin in daily, as victims of almost every imaginable crisis, ya got a first hand report on how life was shapin' up on the outs from the veterans themselves. Kids don't stay strangers long 'n soon friendships are struck. One encounter turned out t be as unlikely as it was unexpected. It all began on yer second day when an older girl, maybe twelve r thirteen, whod been watchin ya doin quiet things fer some time, came over n informed ya that Angelina needs to see you. Its important! Whoever Angelina was; n hesitant about that last fiasco, but her urgency led t a meetin on a bench in the open field. She delivered a small, n kinda frail, Spanish girl about yer age n backed away a dozen yards n waited. What ensued next, n fer a dozen more identical meetins, set
ya back some; with her You are more like us than one of them. We always watch to see if any show up here. It is very rare, especially a boy! If it is true, and you are one, then you must listen very carefully to what we are going to tell you about yourself and what you possess. You may already know that you are very different. We do not know how a boys mind will react to what you may possess and what we are about to tell you. You see, we know who you are, and we must make sure that you do too. n endin, on our last such meetin with, What you have is very strong. It is dangerous. Be careful how you use it!! In between her exposin yer very innermost things n suspicions, n you doin likewise, we met on common ground t discover that wed both had about as much shit beat outta us as is humanly possibly n that neither of us had ever even thought, r had the ability t consider, acquiescing t the sickness that had tried t work its magic on us. In general, ten year old kids don't land on earth with this level of introspection, but she'd left bein' a kid back at her mother's second 'r third suicide attempt 'n the umpteenth beatin' 'n molestin' spree by her seldom seen father. He only showed up occasionally t beat 'n sexually assault her 'n her sisters. She said it was better when he wasn't there, and, with her mother finally succeedin', it was fer the best that she was gone, too. Her 'n her sisters had done what they could t help their parents, but their
problems was too great fer small children t solve. Even if they had some answers, it wouldn'ta done no good 'cause who listens t kids anyway? There comes a time when they're past reasonin' with. There's no hope fer anybody, with kids jus' bein' things fer adults t use t release their frustrations 'r act out their fantasies on. Comin' t grips
with the truth, which was a lot more tolerable 'n believable, that humans, let alone kids, couldn't live like that, she was feelin' no remorse. Havin' put the past behind her. In spite of her hardships, 'r maybe because of 'em, she'd turned out t be a real jewel anybody, rich 'r poor, woulda been proud t claim; but now she sat with the rest of us discarded rejects -- waitin'. Fer what it's worth, she didnt have that smell. She was safe! And, a friend is a friend n be glad ya got oneno matter how theyre packaged. She was awaitin a court order t, hopefully, be released t an aunt she liked
n had spent a lotta time with. Ya got the feelin' that the black robes was jus' as white as the hoods 'n sheets that most people in authority wore 'n thatcha hadda be a little leery about puttin' much store in this justice stuff. All this cloak 'n polished silence hooplah wasn't worth the sawdust that Henry kept in his ears. Best ya could do was t take yer "just desserts" like a good soldier. They had their records, 'n that was enough. In the end it was the dorm gods of sicko that justice bowed to. This aint how its supposed t work out folks! Two kids, with uncertain futures, passed, 'n fer a moment somethin' was gained.
She got released t the aunt; 'n the other was t spend three more years in another institution -- a Boys Home.
CHAPTER 10
The Boys Home musta had around two hundred 'n fifty boys, ages six t eighteen, housed in long, wide, Spanish-styled, double storied, tile-roofed barracks located on a real large chunk of land. There was lots of room so ya didn't feel cooped up. Besides the acres 'n acres of grass 'n trees fer playin' areas, there was a football field, hospital, swimmin' pool, a large, modern ranch-type barn with pastures, 'n a huge marshy area with lots of small wild animals. Whoever put this package together had their head screwed on right, realizin' that kids needed room t grow 'n explore. The head authorities that worked there lived there. The superintendent, a fair man who tried t run a good ship, lived in a large house between the hospital 'n the pastures. He was always busy with meetin's 'n paperwork, but he honestly tried t do right by the kids, minglin' with what little time he had left after all his official work. The head social worker, a middle aged lady 'n about as real 'n understandin' as a human
can get, lived in the office buildin' at the front gate. These people was great. They had visions, but that was where the visions ended. Well, not really ended; it was jus' that other people that worked there had other visions. All the fair, real, 'n understandin' comes apart at the seams if there's a sicko hidin' in the bushes. (Remember, them's the ones that, "filled in the blanks, marched right in, 'n set about plunderin'.") It was at the housemother, housefather, 'n dorm counselor level, as before, that the whole system quickly deteriorated; good intentions, lofty ideals, 'n all -kaput. What the great 'n visionary gave, the sordid took away. Most folks got a little sicko in 'em jus' awaitin' a chance, but they usually keep it beat down somehow. Then there's them what can't seem t control the grip that their sicko's got on 'em 'n hafta learn how t get through the "tests 'n screens, carefully devised by highly trained perfessionals, fer sure," in order t get permission, power, 'n authority t get t do their beatin', whackin', molestin', pokin', 'n pinchy, touchy things. All things considered, motives 'n desires, not many people pursued their duties with such intensity. All smiles 'n goodness, they was, t everybody -- 'ceptin' the kids. Because of their unique situation, prowlin' in the midst of all those young bodies 'n minds (a gold mine of sorts), they went t great extents t protect their treasure, as a businessman might guard his assets. Words 'n retribution worked well on most kids.
It didn't make no difference whether they liked ya 'r not; either way they'd get their hands on ya. What ya really aimed at was jus' t be ignored; remain as anonymous as possible. Invisible would be even better. It seemed that the kids was merely
necessary settin's 'n props on a stage that the sickos desperately needed t act out 'n perform their fantasies 'n skits. When called inta question by administration office staff, about concerns brought up by an occasional teacher 'r alleged accusations by an innocent 'n gutsy kid, they would respond t these charges by usin' well-coined perfessional phrases that the officials blindly ate up 'n gullibly swallowed: juvenile patterns; adolescent development phases; hostility towards adult figures; "He's got quite an imagination;" adjustment disorders, 'r whatever. Everybody, kids 'n staff alike, took these administrative officials as fools. They could be manipulated by any passin' fancy that wandered inta the perverts minds. They lived in a world all by themselves, entirely alienated from what was really happenin' right under their noses 'n literally refusin' t believe that such things could occur -under any circumstances. There was enough "highly perfessional" couched maxims, phrases, 'n words fer everybody t hide behind 'n boggle the most adamant 'n persistent official inta a confusin' stupor. It was like a green light. The more they could get away with, the more theyd do. Like a challenge. With no one, anywhere, listenin r
believin the kids, violence n perversion reigned. Each sicko outperformin the others, n each guardin their treasure. A kinda hunch, that'd been gnawin' away at yer insides the last few years, was now turnin' inta a very depressin' reality: Sickos breed sickos!!! It was at this new Boys Home thatcha could see the whole transition process. A fella hadda watch out that it didn't happen t you. Why the kids was there 'n how they was treated was both different 'n ironic. In the last few places most of the kids was there because of things outta their control. There was still some of these kinda kids here; but there was also a lotta kids that had purposely 'n repeatedly done things that got 'em put here. A mixed lot -- that amounted t a few sheep bein' thrown in with a lotta wolves. It was tough from day one. Not jus' violence but condoned violence became a way of life. The larger kids immediately set about beatin' up the new 'n smaller kids while the housefathers 'n dorm counselors turned their heads the other way with, "A kid has to establish himself here, and, if he's going to survive, he has to learn to fight and defend himself." They'd even form a large circle around the combatants. The fight would go on till one of 'em couldn't get up. Half-hour fights was common. The housemothers wouldn't even bother themselves with kids tearin' each other apart outside. Wasn't no concern of theirs 'less they was doin' it inside their dorms. Then it
was very grave, 'n they'd call the housefather 'r dorm counselor t give the kids a good strappin'. The longer a kid was there, the sicker he got, with him not noticin' any change 'r difference in hisself. The housemothers were still o1' religious dingbats that seldom came outta their musty, violet smellin' rooms, 'cept t pronounce some new revelation of their god down on ya with a, "Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Sacrilege!"; n the housefathers 'n dorm counselors was still yieldin' straps, at the ready. They still had their "breakin' sessions" fer any kid that was new 'r merely transferred t their dorm. One big counselor, who lifted weights 'n was maybe a year older than the eighteen year old kids, used t use the wooden slats outta chair seats on bare flesh. They'd leave huge, foot-long, black 'n blue blisters bleedin' around the edges on yer butt 'n legs. He hadda be beatin' on someone all the time with them slats. It was like someone had given the vicious, rich, boardmember's kid at the military school a license t do whatever he wanted. He'd use white gloves fer duty inspection t check fer dust on yer bed springs, floor, window sills, outside stairs, ceilin' lights, bulbs, 'r wherever. Any dust 'n down came yer pants. He'd get onta a kid 'n put him on toilet duty, which meant ya got the slats every mornin' cause it was impossible t get the o1' yella stains, that'd eaten clean through the enamel, offa the aged urinals 'n pots. One of his favorites was t wait till the kid was in the showers, with soap in his hair 'n face, 'n shout, "Three seconds to get out of the showers." Fer
every second after that ya got a swat. Reminded a fella of pickin' up marbles. He'd sneak up on ya t do this. A couple of the kids was his buddies, little sickos in trainin' like Lucas, 'n they'd help him trap some poor kid. They'd all have a good laugh, along with an addictive dose of power 'n approval. Jus' thinkin' 'bout all the schemes, excuses, 'n methods he'd use t get a chance t beat kids gives ya a depressin' feelin'. The word was out that he really didn't care fer girls. Any gay kids didn't get no beatin's. There was another housefather who'd let his outside queer friends come in at night t get at the kids. It was actually sorta comical, in a disgustin' way, t watch one of his friends come inta the large livin' room in the evenin' when a bunch of kids was sittin' on the couch in their pajamas watchin' television. He'd sit down on the end of the couch 'n work his way down as the kids, one at a time, got up 'n left. The kids seemed t be glued t the television, so he could ply his trade while the kids tried t concentrate on the television program. There wasn't never nothin' important 'r even interestin' on this new television thing, not like workin' with animals in the barn, wanderin' in the swampy marsh, inventin' somethin' outta spare parts, 'r readin' a good book, so there really wasn't no reason at all t waste yer time watchin' some worthless drivel that the other kids'd fight 'n squabble over like they couldn't live without it. Television was sure a neat invention, but what good was somethin' that didn't seem t serve any function 'cept waste yer time 'r help some queer get inta yer pants. Best t steer clear of this
television business, as no good seemed t come from it. The housefather hadn't struck ya as that kinda guy, as he was married 'n had a kid. Seemed TV fit right inta this whole controllin' scenario. Beware of sickos bearin' gifts. Like in the other kids home, ya couldn't really say nothin', 'r the straps'd come out. The higher-ups wouldn't believe ya anyway: "Surely you are mistaken child?" "Not here under our very noses." "Impossible." Trapped again! How the kids was treated 'n how they was supposed t be treated wasn't the same thing. All ya hadda do was t look at the Boys Home with its great facilities, 'n you'd see there was a lot of concern behind it. Then there was the superintendent, the head counselor, 'n so many good folks, clubs, 'n organizations outside the Boys Home that really tried t help the kids in any way they could - by providin' jobs, field trips, get - togethers, picnics, events, 'n helpin' ya with yer homework - that had they known what a couple sickos was up t, they woulda probably stormed the bastions 'n ripped 'em apart. It only took a couple schemin' sickos t bring all their good intentions t naught 'n create worse problems than already existed. Kids wasn't no fools. Ya hadda be crazy t go anyplace near the dorms unless ya absolutely hadda, 'n even then ya postponed it as long as possible. To disturb the mole in "Her" hole, except when she hadda permit yer presence 'n tolerate ya, meant swats right off. What she did in her small room at the end of the dorm that demanded such
absolute silence at all times, no one knew, 'n no one cared. All dorms had a mole. Sometimes they looked different, but a mole's a mole; except fer one big, big housemother long ago, who turned out t be a fluke, a flaw in the system, they was all the same. Even when ya was supposed t be there it was always uncomfortable. There wasn't nothin' homey about the Boys Home. They made sure of that. All the kids had their own different ways of copin' 'n escapin' their influence as much as possible. There was a touch of irony in this escapin' business. If ya remember, the people who'd designed the Boys Home had provided all kinds of good things fer kids, but it seemed everything was tainted by this repulsive stigma created by a few sickos. In order t escape the evils of a few, the kids was blinded t all the good things around 'em. It took so few t ruin the work of so many. Sounds like somethin' Churchill woulda said. The kids took every chance t get off campus. If they couldn't get off campus, they all had their dark, crack-like alleyways fer playin' craps, cards 'r pitchin' pennies. It seemed like they was forced inta these unplanned flaws in the Boys Home's layout. Oh well, couldn't let what everybody else did influence ya too much. Ya hadda make the best outta whatever situation ya wound up in. With most of the kids payin' no attention at all t the great goodies that the Boys Home provided, ya had 'em all t yerself. On t the barn.
CHAPTER 11
If there was a heaven anywhere, it was located way out back, past the fields 'n pastures on the other end of the Boys Home, paved with animal manure. Old manure had sat fer years, tellin' of an occasional kid 'n his animal project, long since fergotten, in dried, hard, little dreams. Most kids never even knew that this place existed 'r what t do with it if they did. There was only one kid that was usin' this long, ranch-style barn. So it sat, a city with rows of stalls 'n rooms, sittin' empty 'n fallin' apart from lack of concern. The possibilities was endless. A guy jus' needed a few bucks t get started. It was the same o1' story. The Boys Home had lots of jobs but few takers, even with a whoppin' four bits an hour. Some of the kids was more willin' t work if they could get one of the outside jobs where they could get a buck an hour from sympathetic folks. They'd brag about takin' their money without havin' t do much fer it. A lot of the
kids had parents who they couldn't live with fer some reason but who'd give 'em money. The kids learned t milk 'em real good. No good seemed t come of this givin' away money 'n allowance stuff. It proved t be a curse more'n anything. Any fool could spend money, 'n that's exactly what the kids thought of anybody who'd be fool enough t give it away. Sorta a circle of fools. Anyway, besides craps 'n pitchin' pennies, there was that o1' standby, "Why work when ya can jus' rip it off?" So there'd be no problem gettin' jobs t get the bucks necessary t pick up a few animals 'n see what they was all about. "A few animals" turned out t be a real understatement. Havin' 'n takin' care of all manner of rabbits, mice, rats, gophers, guinea pigs, moles, shrews, hamsters, goats, ducks, geese, cattle, snakes, 'n whatever else wandered by, wasn't what it was all about, but studyin' 'em was. It all started out so simple, with care 'n maintenance, but soon there was questions that couldn't be answered with superficial observation. Mice 'n rats was startin' t act more 'n more like humans the longer ya observed 'em. Could it be possible that they also had their crazies, queers, 'n maybe even religious dingbats? There was more possibilities in this than a mind could weed out, lest he had a heap of mice r rats. Mice was easier t keep than rats, fer gobs of reasons. If these questions, 'n who knows what others, was t be answered, then it was on t the heaps.
In order t even house what eventually turned out t be over five hundred mice, it took some doin'. Ya couldn't jus' stuff 'em in cages like criminals 'r treat 'em like they was in some institutionalized kids home, especially any wild mice 'n rat populations ya was workin' with. The desire fer freedom was so intense in these wild creatures that it would override all other livin' functions, yet ya hadda keep track 'n have some control over selection of breedin'. This meant findin' out how these creatures was supposed t live in nature by studyin' 'em in their nests 'n runs in fields, walls, attics, basements, brush piles, 'n old appliances. The tame populations also needed this settin', as institutional philosophies 'n overcrowdin' would probably distract their way of thinkin', n the crazies, what might ordinarily be cast out, would now have a better chance of reproducin' 'n increasin' their odds of influencin' 'n alterin' a natural population. The first experimental houses was made with escape holes t see if the creatures really wanted t stay of their own will. Figured that was the only way of really, truly knowin'. There was failures, t be sure, but eventually they was fairly comfortable 'n settled in of their own free will. Good data fer the controlled breedin' idea comin' up. Gettin' down t answerin' took some untanglin'. First ya hadda start on simple things. The mice comin' in white, brown, black, 'n spotty appeared t be an obvious enough place t start. Bein' as mice breed like mice, it didn't take but a few controlled generations before ya got the hang of takin' spots offa one generation 'n puttin' 'em back
on the next. Realizin' that there was somethin' t this spot business, probably more'n first met the eye, it was time t move from things outside t things inside. More strategies was in order. The idea of buildin' a whole society of mice seemed pretty strange, probably even t the mice. What was a society anyway? There was flocks, herds, families, 'n schools, but -except fer ants, bees, 'n termites - a society was hard t come by naturally. The model, therefore, hadda come from humans. Artificial was the word! No more natural. The little mice folks was really in fer a shock. Artificial water systems, food supplies, shelters, pathways, education, entertainment, rules, goals, ideas, dignity, 'n even death was the new order of the day. At first they'd probably all be laughin', too; but the novelty would be quick t wear off as soon as they tasted the food. A high rise, self-contained apartment complex was chosen fer the site. Construction began with the alteration of a large four by six foot cabinet, near two foot deep. Each of the six floors could accommodate around twenty mice comfortably 'n was equipped with a connective stairway with a small hole 'n door that could be opened 'r shut t allow observation of interaction. The whole right side of the cabinet had its original door, permittin' maintenance entry 'n a large dark area fer the apartment dwellers, while the left side was screened fer general observation. In this way one floor
could have a normal single family, while the other floors could have increasingly overcrowded conditions. Other cages, living areas, were at the ready t maintain accurate populations when thngs got outta control in the big housin complex The
effects of everything could be observed at once: overcrowdin, inbreedin', lack of privacy, nest space, dorm conditions, the inability t escape 'r be chased away, 'n whatever else turned up. This simplified records 'n a lot of "what if" guesswork, 'cause everything was all happenin' at once before yer eyes. Bettern a crystal ball t see what us humans are in fer, up the road. Mind ya, this whole project, from its original inception took close t two years, what with buildin n rebuildin different livin conditions, n trial n error things, t finally arrive at the huge cabinet society, t get a few answers. Fer what it's worth, here's what came of the project in the end. Outta close t five hundred mice that entered this program through birth, from a few original pairs, three real sickos showed up over this period. One appeared in an uncrowded second generation 'n the others in a more crowded fourth 'n fifth generation. They all was constantly bein' chased away by mothers 'n other residents because of their incessant attacks on youngsters, babies, 'n nestin' mothers. Bein' as there wasn't no place fer 'em t go once they was chased away, the residents was also trapped with 'em 'n hadda always be on guard. As the population grew, the sickos got heavy inta youngster 'n baby killin'. It became a mania with em t
kill -- dominatin n overridin all other drives n social graces. There wasnt nothin else wrong with em, sickness-wise. The apartment was kept super clean, 'n the mice wasn't exposed t any other outside rodents. After havin' received the fourteen shots fer gettin' bit by a dog, a fella was always on the lookout. Not wantin' t interfere in what was goin' on, but after a point is made, enough killin' is enough; the sickos was removed 'n isolated - like the other mice wanted. In the months that followed, neither time nor isolation altered their urge t be nasty. Rotten t the core seems t be the layman term used. A smaller study of this nature was done usin' tame rats, producin' one sicko. Thought of continuin' the original experiment but eliminatin' the sickos from the breedin' population. It was also in the works t breed the .three violent sickos, but they was all malesa little somethin t ponder there. Be somethin' if ya got a religious colony outta them, intolerant 'n needin' t dominate. Chances were, if ya had broken things inside, ya had religious things also. Good chances. Course, a few generations 'n ya could breed it near out. In all the two years of breedin' things in 'n out, a few interestin' points came up. You could breed out too much, 'n the critter wouldn't know the rules of the game fer survival; wouldn't know what t do with freedom; jus' sit around 'n be consumed. In those that weren't washed out, freedom unleashed the fire, will, 'n creativity t live. Also, where home was, could be fixed 'n refixed. Anyway, see what ya think of this
fool's chase. Writin' a letter ain't dumb, but writin' it t a rat is. The rat was wild 'n had been under observation fer a week 'r so in a screened wooden box with lots of patches where he'd gnawed holes tryin' t escape. One hole had four wooden patches over it 'n stuck out, like a hollowed out limb, from the box. The rest of the box hadda be lined with metal sheetin'. Though every necessity 'n comfort was provided, he wanted out in a bad way. He didn't want nothin' t do with this society business. Freedom'll have that effect on ya once ya get a taste of it. Probably thinkin' there's somethin' dingy about talkin' t a rat, but it was really an effort in communication with the past, us. Ya see he was still able t be wild 'n free, 'n we weren't. Sorta like: How was it, way back when, fer us, rat? The letter got right down t things important t think about; no dallyin' here. He'd appreciate that. Judge fer yerself! Dear Rat, With yer teeth ya can gnaw a little round hole in the box 'n escape 'n therewith be content; but look at what ingenious creatures us humans are with our gray matter 'n thumb. With the one we can figger 'n with the other we can do. We can go one better on yer little round hole 'n make a square one, r fer that matter, any shape 'n anywhere we choose; even in the heavens if we wish it. But, alas, in the end, there is no contentment; no escape fer us through any of our holes, from
whatever it is that drives us t create new 'n better, equally as escapeless, holes. This we can do with our two tools. How ingenious of us, huh? Now, do not hate us in disgust fer the creatures that we are, 'r there are those of us who'll stuff ya where there is no escapin'. Only hope one day one of us'll be able t speak the other's language. Till then we can only look at each other curiously 'n wonder. Fer a week the letter hung on the big screen in the light; so he hadda see it, try t figger it out, before releasin' him. Oh! The message was pretty clear. Don't evolve up any higher, friend. Freedom appears t be only a hollow word up here. A bunch of Tomfoolery, huh? A lot of nonsense? Which all goes t show that by twelve 'r thirteen, ya still ain't much more ahead of the game than ten year olds when it comes t dumb. Now, on t summin' up the findin's of the big main project. A guy could draw any conclusion he wanted t, no matter how farfetched, 'n anybody listenin' could say, "Hey, that's really far-fetched." Such is human nature, unreliable as it is. Well, since nobody seemed t care a stick, one way 'r the other, about mice, 'ceptin' maybe t stomp 'em, whatever anybody said wouldn't be listened to anyway, so it'd probably be best t let the little rodents plead their own case by their actions. The sane mice tried desperately t chase out the sickos but were unable due t this unnatural structure of walls n high population of this society thing. Their failure
resulted in violence upon new arrivals, helpless young n babies. Sickos may be used by nature t curb population growth. Inside spots are jus as real as those on the outside n can be dealt with accordingly. Anyway, the animals spoke n the kid listened,
being as nobody else was interested in such tomfoolery. Well, not quite anybody. She showed up unexpected one day at the barn, which in itself meant somethin'. Almost nobody ever came down here 'cause of the long trek, climbin' over high fences, foul smells, soggy manured barnyard, 'n angry resident geese. These was the guardians of privacy. There wasn't gonna be no delicate, dingbat housemother r housefather pokin around here in the hissin, miry stink. If they knew about the mice, theyd a probably come up with somethin about how God told 'em special thatcha can't take off 'r put back spots on mice, 'n they'da really got religious if they'da found out the real reason all this was goin' on. Nope! Over the fences, through the muck, 'n past the geese she came. Knowed what she was doin', she did. Animals wasn't strange t her, so she hadda be all right. She turned out t be a Doctor of Biology 'n worked with lots of mice 'n other animals at one of the universities close by. She was lookin' fer a kid that was interested in acquirin' some pedigreed mice with long, known histories. A friend of hers at the university had brought it t her attention. Ah hah! Now it was clear. It had been that conversation, while playin' catch with that college student a while back, with the request t see if the university had such
mice. When she entered that small barn room 'n saw all those critters, she was all eyes 'n ears. Even the stutters didn't deter her enthusiasm. She knew a lot about mice cause of the questions she asked about different generations n traits. She even took notes: on the strategies behind the apartment complex idea of observin' everythin' at once; the goals; the graphic note takin'; the couple dozen snakes in the catch, study, 'n release project; 'n the few large gopher snakes left out in the room t help educate the mice in the rehabilitation 'n release program. The large spider webs around the room, with note sheets tacked t the wall under 'em t study web patterns 'n eatin' habits, also caught her attention. She understood the problems of gettin' wild creatures t breed 'n cooperate in captivity 'n thought the practice of extractin' a few young mice 'n rats from carefully watched nests, after they had been weaned, somethin' worth lookin' inta. She was sorta taken back after readin' the feedin' record chart under a cage holdin' a tiny ferever fidgety, carnivorous rodent 'n quickly realized that mice had more t fear from shrews than snakes. A thirty tone ratio spoke fer itself. There wasn't much notes on the moles 'cause they was almost impossible t study 'r on the gophers as they'd go crazy 'n selfdestruct if confined t any type of housin system not of their own makin. She agreed with the idea of it bein worth our while learnin more about these creatures in order t maybe learn more about ourselves.
She left after about an hour sayin' she'd try t stir up some pairs of breedin' mice with known histories 'n promised not t tell a soul about what she'd seen. Any publicity would only come t no good. She understood that. True t her word, the mice arrived in a few days. On t the matter of the problem child. A lot of folks got a problem child, but, generally speakin', the child ain't a kid a goat. What he'd turned inta really wasn't his fault. He was the product of a bizarre experiment. He'd been bought as a baby 'n bottle fed miles away from any contact 'r influence of any other goats. Earlier observation of pigs had revealed they wasn't as dumb as they looked, but, fer a lot of reasons, it was decided that a goat would be easier t work with. He turned out t be an excellent student and, as all creative kids anywhere, a problem 'n a headache. The idea behind this experiment hadn't been t turn him inta some silly pet 'r train him t do ungoat-like tricks but t see if he could think, whatever that meant. How ya was gonna get him t do anything that could be stretched t be called thinkin' was gonna involve usin' some tool 'r avenue, like a natural drive. Out of all the tests, mazes, colors 'n insane ideas, there wasn't nothin' what couldn't somehow be classified as trainin' 'r rewardin'. There wasn't no question at all about this thinkin stuff bein' a real challenge. All through the testin', he was treated with dignity 'n respect. There was never
any thoughts of alterin' his natural behavior with rewards 'r punishments. After three 'r four months, it was gettin' harder 'n harder t hide food 'r things he couldn't find, even though he wasn't hungry, or create barriers he couldn't get through 'r over, short of stickin' him in a crate 'n nailin' it up. Even though he would, at times, appear t be tired 'n only wanted t rest, as soon as the human showed up n got out the boards, ropes, balls, ladder, n other objects, he was up n ready t go in a flash. Now, t most folks, all that goats got goin fer em is their alleged bad breath, which really wasn't that bad at all - at least ya didn't notice it around all those other barnyard smells; all part of that wholesome goodness of country livin'. But, unbeknownst t most folks, goats got a couple other peculiar characteristics that bear lookin' inta. One, a love fer climbin'. No matter what it was - piles of boards, junk, mounds of dirt, large bushes, small trees they could get at, fences, chairs, benches, 'r tables - they hadda try 'n be on top of it. They was like regular kids playin' King of the Mountain, only, in their case, it was king of the junk pile, bush, 'r whatever. Two, a natural curiosity, again jus' like regular kids. When ya got right down t thinkin' 'bout it, with a little bad breath, regular kids could be right up there with goats. With what you'd seen of regular kids, animals wasn't turnin' out t be as dumb as we'd been led t believe, nor was we as brilliant 'n superior as we'd previously thought. Anyway, the goat now looked forward t these fun 'n games sessions. Nothin'
had been altered from his natural behavior, only now maybe he was gettin' t do more of what he did naturally -- search, climb, escape. There wasn't no one test thatcha could point t 'n say, "Hey, fer sure, that's the one that did it," whatever "IT" was. "IT" was either one test 'r "somethin'", somethin' you'd unknowingly given him, 'r "IT" was "everything" you'd given him. Maybe the mixture 'r pieces of these "tests, mazes, colors, 'n insane ideas" had inadvertently been the right ingredients 'r process t create, bring out, 'r release this "IT" desire fer fun 'n games, like that philosophy: "The whole is greater then the sum of its parts." Could this "IT" be the beginnin' of thinkin'? Perhaps the clue had been there all along in what we called play. Regular kids learned how t do things through play, maybe even thinkin'. Why not goats? Well, whatever "IT" was, these fun 'n games was turnin' inta a real problem, especially if he wanted t play 'n the human was someplace else, like school. At first he'd only wander around the barn, marsh, 'r pastures, but then he took t wanderin' off a couple miles inta neighborin' housin' communities. The phone calls would then come in fer the kid t come 'n pick up his goat. When goin' out t pick up the problem child, an unexpected, strange twist showed up. The only people that got mad was the housemothers, housefathers, 'n dorm counselors that hadda deliver the message. The people whose couple flowers he'd
eaten, who didn't seem t mind the loss of 'em, had a much different response. When goin' t pick up the goat 'n apologize t the people fer any loss 'r inconvenience, they'd say: "He is the most interesting goat I've ever seen." "Well mannered, friendly, and almost sensible." "My husband thinks I'm crazy, but I'll swear that goat was waiting for me to do something with him. You know, like a puppy wants to play with you." One elderly lady, whose house he'd visited a half dozen times said, "He'll stand outside my door and wait for me to come out and sit and play little games with him. My, my, I've never seen anything like it in all my born days. I do so look forward to his visits." The neighborhood kids loved him. At first it appeared it was his occasional munchin' on a few flowers that was responsible fer him comin' out here, but then it became clear that he really liked t be around people. The people on the outside was pretty patient 'n understandin' of children 'n animals. Well, no matter how interestin' he was, the Boys Home wasn't gonna permit no goat wanderin' off campus. There was rules fer it someplace. This escapin' goat predicament had a Poe-like twist in it. All along you'd only assumed that you was the one that was studyin' the goat 'n tryin' t see if he could think, when, in reality, 'n much t yer amazement on discoverin' that the tables had been turned 'r had always been turned, it was the goat that'd been studyin' the human. Now it was the human's turn t try 'n solve some puzzles as he sat, dumbfounded 'n flabbergasted, at the feet (all four of 'em) of this crafty 'n not so dull-
witted, very hairy teacher. Us humans is not real fast on pickin' up on things like this. The first major puzzle t figure out was how the goat was repeatedly able t escape, despite yer continual efforts t keep him in, outwittin' 'n thwartin' ya at every turn.
Crouchin' outside the barn's Dutch door, after puttin' him in his inside stall whose walls had slowly been raised t over six feet, 'n makin' sure that all six of the barn's ten foot shutters were shut, ya had a good view of what was about t happen as ya peeked through a crack. He waited 'n listened very intently fer a full ten minutes, hesitatin', maybe sensin' yer presence, until he was either sure ya was gone, 'r his desire t be out overrode his caution. First he'd start runnin' around his stall, gettin' his speed up, 'n then he'd jump up 'n bounce offa one wall at an upward angle 'n clear the wall next t it with no trouble at all, 'jus' like a bouncin' ball. Next, he went directly 'n purposely t each of the barn's four doors 'n tested each one with his hoofs 'n nose, tryin' t pry 'em open. When this failed, he got up on one of the lower stall walls which had a four inch top 'n walked over t each of the large, hangin', wooden window shutters in turn 'n methodically started pushin' 'n pryin' all over again at each corner until he found one that'd give three 'r four inches at the bottom, 'n he squeezed right out. Well, that not only solved that puzzle but answered the big question as well, 'n five months wasn't a bad time t get a question answered. Lookin' back, it appeared the "dull-witted" of us two creatures sure wasn't the one that was repeatedly doin' the outfoxin' of the other. After buildin' him his own fifteen by fifteen foot barn 'n watchin' him pine away from loneliness, bein' isolated like a common criminal 'r some institutional kid, the only thing left t do was t find somebody that had a bunch of goats 'n drop him off there.
Bein' around strangers was better'n bein' around nobody at all. Things sure get tangled up, don't they? Chickens wasn't quite so personable 'r lucky. The chicken has both found his place in destiny 'n come t the end of his evolutionary ladder, lyin' in a sizzlin' skillet, 'n wasn't gonna rise no higher'n the gravy.
The Chicken! The poor, poor chicken, 'n poorer still the SAP that tires t make a buck a-raisin' him!
The Chicken! The dumb, dumb, chicken 'n dumber still the DUMMY that tries t make a buck a-raisin' him! Definitely not a Frost, but still catchy in its own commercial way. Bein' as the bible 'n blueprint fer chicken production was the cash register, the profit margin was shaved so close that, by the time ya got through all the middlemen 'n
other crooks who'd all bit off their chunk of the bird, all that was left fer the grower was some feathers 'n maybe a hunk of the hind end, if he was lucky. It'd taken a few batches of a couple hundred chickens each t get loaded down with all this wisdom. Whatcha made one season was lost the next. Raisin' yer own chickens wasn't no better'n workin' fer the mob. The small time farmer was doomed, lest he was sharp as a tack on both ends 'n could sniff out the crooks behind all their smiles. The local feed store would as soon fleece ya as look atcha, no matter what yer age. The best thing t do was t ferget the whole mess 'n go inta some other animal, but the superintendent's wife showed up unexpectedly. You'd never've read her that way. She was a harmless creature, more inta social functions than inta anything serious; so when she came up 'n said she needed a partner t go inta the chicken business with her, it caught ya off guard. She said there wasn't nobody else she knew that was dependable, didn't mind workin' hard, 'n knew anything about the chicken business. She listened patiently t all the problems 'n reasons of stayin' outta this no-win game 'n then said, "Good! We will fence in a large area behind my house; buy the feed, chicks, and materials in bulk from some honest merchants; start out small with three or four thousand chicks; and go from there. You can take care of everything related to getting them fat and keeping them healthy, and I will make sure we clear a profit." She was a lively one - 'n shrewd t boot; ya hadda give her that.
How could ya not wanna throw in with her? Things got underway instantly: fences was built; huge, used incubators was donated; 'n in came the chicks. The whole operation wasn't near as big as the Military School's fifty and seventy-five thousand chicken operations, but it was enough t keep a fella hoppin', what with packin' all those hundred pound bags of feed, waterin', mendin', 'n discouragin' stray cats 'n all. The feed bags hadda be packed by hand around forty yards from where the truck delivered 'em. The chickens'd stay outta yer way, fer the most part, while ya was packin' the heavy bags, most havin' enough sense not t wanna get squished; but, in this last batch of chickens, there was one featherbrained, odd ball of a runt who chose, as his destiny, t live as close t doom, the squishes 'n squirts, 'n the next world as he possibly could. It happened one damp, chilly, Saturday mornin' in winter while packin' a hundred pound bag of feed. There was the runt, as usual: runnin' along beside ya, as usual; peckin' the feed that was caught between yer cold, cold, wet, bare toes, as usual; with no amount of shooin', hollerin', 'r kickin' bein' able t discourage 'r cause him t alter his appointed course 'n rendezvous with destiny, as usual. But little did he realize that this wasn't a good mornin' t peck feed what was caught between yer cold, cold, wet, bare toes. Whether it was desperation t get him away 'r seein' if he could fly
(preferably someplace over the rainbow) will never be known, but a fella could only take so much peckin' between cold, cold, wet, bare toes on a Saturday mornin'. So, with no more ado, this slow taker of hints was hurled 'n found hisself sailin' high inta the sky, like a football, over trees 'n chicken coops. He sure made the darndest attempts at doin' furious things up there with his wings 'n feet; can't rightly say it resembled flyin' though. By 'n by, he musta looked down from way up there; 'n his half inch, (what appeared t be) two-hemisphered brain (better observed when cooked 'n coagulated) realized that gravity seemed t have the upper hand once ya found yerself off the ground. He apparently got the message that he'd better start doin' what birds do best 'r set his house in order. Ya could tell he was gettin' caught up in the spirit of it all 'cause of how furiouser he was doin' what he'd been doin' before on the way up. Whether it was the flappin', clawin', 'r squawkin' that caused him t veer off 'n alter his flight plans remained t be seen, but he made a perfect thirty-seven point landin' about thirty feet up in a tall Eucalyptus tree. He stayed up there quite a few hours climbin' around - more with his wings, body flops, 'n neck twists than his feet. After that object lesson, he'd follow ya around real close but wouldn't peck no toes. See, he wasn't so dumb after all when ya figured out a way of communicatin' with him that he could understand. Kept him around fer a long time. Never did send him t the slaughter house with the rest of the chickens. Maybe it was 'cause he was such a
runty, scaggly, pile of bent 'n dirty feathers, 'r 'cause he'd follow ya around like a puppy dog all the time 'r 'cause ya sure wouldn't wanna butcher up yer star pupil 'n ruin such a successful learnin' experience. The superintendent's wife did her job 'n even got inta yer experimental breedin' program by bringin' in a huge Silverlaced Wyandotte rooster one day fer a present. That she was t regret in the worst kinda way. He looked like a tough, o1', cigar chompin', bulldog with feathers, constantly adjustin' his massive beaked, enormous, cocked head t meticulously scrutinize 'n inspect everything that was 'r wasn't there, his mountainous, red-crowned comb flappin' with every jerk, 'n acted worse than he looked. You'd swear he was rabid, attackin' steers, hogs, the horse, 'r anything that came close t his harem. With his two foot stature, heavy, powerful wings, 'n over two inch leg spurs, he'd put fear inta everything that crossed his path, along with leavin' the trespasser with a good dose of scars 'n bruises. Even the geese gave him berth, watchin' him warm up -- attackin' fence posts. In short, he was the biggest, nastiest, orneriest, angriest rooster that ever walked the face of the earth, which made him a great stud. She'd been warned t steer clear of him if she wandered down towards the chickens 'n he was about, but she wasn't much fer listenin'. Shame, listenin's not all that bad, once ya get the hang of it. Her regrettin' started one day durin' school when she brought a giggly bunch of her plump, crony, society ladies down t see what was goin'
on. She took 'em all inta the small, twelve by fifteen foot, mesh covered, experimental breedin' pen (whose tiny, narrow door ya hadda stoop 'n turn sideways t get through 'n whose low ceilin' kept ya crouched) so's they could all get a closer look at the ROOSTER. The pen was designed so's the rooster wouldn't have no trouble gettin at hens (fer breedin purposes) n not fer giggly, society lardos t wobble about, the superintendents wife herself bein a real hefty. The gruntin alone musta sounded like crude, threatenin' challenges t the rooster, somethin' his primative mind could understand. He musta figured they wasn't only challengin' him but was after his hens as well. He tore inta them ripe o1' society biddies somethin' terrible. By the time he got through with 'em, they was lucky t have escaped with any flesh at all. They'd all been knocked down, cut up, bruised, 'n terrified pretty badly, what with all that panicky pushin' 'n screamin' of everybody a-tryin' t squeeze through that tiny door all at once. The commotion musta made it worse - with the rooster a cornerin' 'n pickin' the o1' fatties off; with them not bein' able t do much more'n scream frantically with wavin' arms, as they bumped inta each other in their low-crouched hysteria 'n rolled 'n squished about on the fresh, rank smellin', chicken-manured, dirty ground in their expensive dresses 'n costly jewelry. The rooster woulda only seen it as open season on
these intrudin' chubbies and, after polishin' 'em off, woulda finished with a triumphant, loud-crowin', victory strut, with the pomp of the rufflin' 'n straightenin' of feathers ritual. The next day she showed up, bandaged legs 'n arms so black 'n blue ya couldn't tell what color she originally was, seethin' mad 'n indignant as all get out. Even though he'd been given as a gift, he hadda go. There wasn't no amount of explainin' that his services was already producin' chickens close t half a pound heavier in the same amount of time than the same fryers we was presently raisin'. Nope! She wouldn't hear a word of it, nor did she ever learn a lick about chickens. A pity! Every critter's got somethin' worth learnin' from it. Her intentions was good anyway -- makin' a profit! This was all very confusin. What would have the most lastin' 'n reliable benefits? Her usin' her social influence 'r a kid strugglin' t create a new strain of more efficient chickens 'n outwittin' the crooks hisself? What the good folks with good intentions was tryin' t do may not have been what they really wanted t do. That's even more confusin'. Oh well! There's somethin' in there that words can't seem t get a hold on. Fer example: The superintendent, always lookin' fer ways t help kids learn things 'n take advantage of the Boys Home's facilities, wanted t get the kids interested in raisin' animals a while back. He arranged fer a young steer t be delivered t any kid
what could come up with thirty bucks. Couldn't pass up a good deal like that. There was seven other kids that responded 'cause of the publicity 'n novelty of the idea. He sent workers down t build more fences t increase the pasture space 'n get the barn ready, 'n someone else arranged t have the steers, alfalfa, grain 'n other supplies bought 'n delivered. The kids didn't even have t work fer their own money. They'd conned the thirty bucks outta their parents on one of their occasional parental visits t the Boys Home. After the first few days of hooplah died down, only one kid ever showed up moren once a month; most disappeared. The stage had been set. Someone else had taken care of all the buildin, repairin, buying, payin, haulin so the kids naturally expected someone else would take care of the feedin n maintenance as well. The worst blow came a few months later when the society folks donated ten tons of alfalfa. It was a personal insult t yer ability t be responsible 'n take care of simple business matters yerself. This wasn't no poor house fulla charity cases. They sure didn't know nothin' about pride n dignity. They never would accept any payment, no matter how much ya tried. The superintendent even got irate over this persistence t square up this debt, Theyre only trying to help you." Never did get over it. It was somethin' that kept eatin' atcha. T make matters worse, none of the other kids showed up t help unload the alfalfa. Ten tons! It was hard enough takin' care of yer own animals, let alone all these new ones; nor could ya get a soul t help mend fences 'n
stalls, clean up, 'r hand-clear the five acres of wild mustard with scythes. A dumb example, huh? More confused than ever, are ya? In a nutshell: The more ya did fer somebody, the more they'd let ya, 'n the less they did fer themselves. Who was trainin' who? Enough of this stuff 'n on t the other resources at the Boys Home that was lyin idle n goin t waste n needed lookin inta.
CHAPTER 12
The Boys Home musta had more kids at one time 'cause the last dorm buildin' on the end had sat vacant fer some years. Whadda temptation! There it sat, awaiting t be investigated. You'da thought the place woulda been deserted by now, after all these years, but it jus' wasn't so. Dust 'n stains everywhere! They'd got some kid the whacks long ago. There was this feelin' that, even now, he knew he was still responsible fer 'em, ferever a-fearin' some witchlike, housemotherly apparition, years ago dead 'n gone, awaitin' t lay inta him. Dust so thick that the ghosts of the dust was right there with all the kids that'd ever scrubbed these fergotten wooden floors, along with piles of worn out mops, brooms, toothbrushes, 'n everything else they'd ever used, heaped at the ready, day 'n night, t spring inta action. Frustrated kids, knowin' they'd probably still get a lickin', scrubbed away like the dickens at ancient urinals, stained so deep that, even if they was
ripped out 'n destroyed, the stains'd still be there. A streamin' line of decomposin', wretched hagglies kept bustin' outta a small musty room, lashin' righteously with their long, snakey-like tongues 'n returnin' indignantly. Pushin' yer way through the crowds, ya realized that years from now some kid'd walk through another "deserted" dorm, 'n there you'd be, in the crowd scrubbin' away. Of all things, t the trained eye, this place definitely wasn't deserted. Better go check out the attic. The attic was way high up 'cause of each floor's high ceilin', 'n everything ya saw through the broken wooden vent slats belonged t a different way of lookin' at things. It was a bird's eye view by day 'n a bat's by night. There was bats, sparrows, pigeons, swallows, 'n a small hawk nestin' in the attic 'r under the outside, overhangin' eaves. What a laboratory! The place hadn't ever been disturbed; the wonderfully rank smellin' stink from the years of bat 'n bird guano had taken care of that. Findin' a place like this was rare 'cause humans, especially kids, was vicious, somehow feelin' it was their duty t bust up any nests they found 'n kill all the little creatures. Anything little -Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Sound familiar? It was interestin' t think about the superiority of humans over all the beasts, when less than 1% of the mice population showed this trait of viciousness. Well, there wasn't gonna be no pesterin' at all up here, nothin' but lookin'; this'd take care of the rabies caution (mice with wings). This attic was gonna work out all right. Now, onta the basement.
Gettin' inta the basement wasn't the first order of things; findin' out why they kept it locked was. Oh, pickin' the lock'd be easy; Arthur's skills had rubbed off. Ya never knew when they'd come in handy. Only before ya got yerself inta somethin', it'd be worth yer while seein' if it was worth yer while gettin' inta. A dirty window slit on the ground provided a glimpse inta the dark. What was in there boggled the imagination. T fully understand the magnitude of this find, ya hafta realize that each floor of the dorm was around seventy by a hundred 'n thirty feet, 'n the basement was the same size. This wasn't no small place, 'n it was crammed full with what musta been the best kept secret of the century -- at least us kids didn't know nothin' about it. What was this vast treasure doin' here, 'n where in the world did it come from? Who cared? There it sat, 'n this kid was determined, by fair means 'r foul, t get inta it. It was like discoverin' some Scrooge's hidden hoard of all the undelivered goodies Santy Claus had, fer years, been bringin t an orphanage. The whole basement was stuffed t the walls n ceilin with mountains of used bicycles n parts. The temptation was beyond bearin. Really getting inta this place was gonna involve moren a key r pickin a lock. Too much was at stake t jump inta this unprepared; a wrong question t the wrong person,'n it could ruin all yer chances. The usual responses you'd get at the dorm of, "You can't do it," 'r, "It's none of your business," even if they didn't have the
foggiest of what it was all about, was all too predictable. Information, therefore, hadda be obtained through casual, indirect questions 'n readin' between the words t get at the real meanin'. Fer awhile there, the lack of clues was pointin' t this stuff really bein' fergotten until a few suspicions was slowly leadin t a secretary who worked in the front office 'n had been there awhile. The general direction of yer clues was that people on the outside had been donating bikes t the Boys Home fer years, 'n a secretary had always called a maintenance man t pick 'em up 'n store 'em. Now, it was here that an understandin' of the nature 'n circumstances of the Boys Home's typical maintenance men 'n secretaries came in handy. Both did their job without askin' any questions 'r bitin' off any extra work. The maintenance men came 'n went 'n with 'em the knowledge of what was pilin' up in the basement. The key, therefore, t gettin' at this lost treasure, sunk under the deserted dorm, seemed t be t take the bull by the horns, skip all the middlemen, 'n take yer case directly t the top. Armed with a strategy, the superintendent was confronted. It took a heckuva lot of stutterin t convince him of the idea. He knew about the used bikes bein occasionally donated t the Boys Home but didn't know how they'd packed up through the years. The idea of a bike shop sounded good t him, but there wasn't no adults available t supervise it. The first ten minutes was a stand off between, "It is out of the question," 'n an unendin' barrage of reasons why it should be done.
Confrontin' him with logic that the bikes had sat so long that many of the people what originally donated 'em 'n wanted the kids t have 'em was probably all dead 'n gone by now 'n the kids growed up. "With nobody receivin' any benefit from givin' 'r receivin', why keep 'em? Anyway, with no more storage room, yer gonna hafta start junkin' 'em jus' t keep 'em outta the hands of the kids." This unexpected determination of a kid that could go on ferever finally wore him out, 'n, faced with the prospect of "unendin'," he appointed ya as manager of the bike shop. Another world was opened up. Organization was the first thing t tackle - not only t see what all was in there, but t figure out what t do with it. With a week of cleanin', sortin', 'n recordin' an inventory came an uneasiness. Somethin' didn't set right. A closer look at the first room's inventory of three hundred frames verified yer suspicions. There wasn't no whole bikes -- jus' parts. Next came the absence of parts, certain parts on certain makes 'n models; 'n parts what shoulda been there wasn't. The evidence showed a pattern of systematic strippin' of bike parts - not only going way back, but recently - that left only junk remainin'. This conclusion gained strength by knowin' the kinda people what woulda gave the bikes t the Boys Home. After workin' fer these people on gobs of jobs when they'd call the Boys Home, ya got t know 'em as good, generous people what really wanted t do right by the kids 'n wasn't the kind that'd send worthless junk. A fella was gonna hafta cut his mind loose t wander some if he's gonna get a handle on
whats goin on here. Strategy time again. First, whoever, was a-doin this strippin hadda been at it fer a long time, undetected. This narrowed the field t one maintenance man who was the only one that'd been at the Boys Home that long. Nobody had ever bothered t check his van as he'd made pick-ups 'n deliveries 'n went home every night; and, unless ya knew about posts, planks, pipes, glass, 'n mendin' things, you'da hardly noticed that there was always more that was ordered than needed. Sometimes he'd bring in a bunch of lumber t repair 'r build somethin' that didn't need repairin' 'r never got built, but the lumber would slowly disappear. One time he unloaded a big pile of lumber way out by the pasture fence 'n never would say what it was for. As usual, the lumber slowly disappeared. Puttin' all things together, he was a likely suspect. Ya knew that takin' action yerself would bring a lot more results than tryin' t convince someone higher up of yer suspicions. The plan was a basic military move: cut off the enemy's supply line 'n then flush him out, like stickin a hose down a gopher hole 'n seein' who comes out. On t the command post. The main office by the front gate was chosen fer the nerve center of this operation. Havin' swept, mopped, scrubbed, dusted, moved, planted, carted, stacked, mended, 'n done whatever else could possibly be worked on there (nobody else wanted the job), the territory was well known. The head of admissions, who lived there, was a
real nice lady, 'n the secretaries what came in every day was very friendly. The head secretary also collected stamps, so we'd talk about 'n trade 'em a lot. They knew the dorm wasn't no place t keep a valuable stamp collection, so they cleaned out a drawer in a file cabinet 'n set up a small table in the corner fer ya t work on yer stamps. They was alright. In there helpin' in any way they could, they was more'n willin' t notify the new manager of the bike shop when donations came in instead of the maintenance man. They didn't know nothin' about what was goin' on. Good soldiers they was - doin' their job, no questions asked. A short time later, as was anticipated, the new lock was cut off, n the bike thatd been put together as bait was gone. The old lock, thatd hung on the big metal door fer years, hadnt ever been bothered. It hadda be cut off cause the maintenance man had the only key, 'n ya didn't wanna mess up the element of surprise. Suspicions was warmin' up, but ya still needed an "in the act" t nail anything t the wall. Then it started t sink in. What was ya gonna do when this head-on meetin' finally arrived? It happened late one afternoon, a week later, while finishin' up another bike. He walked right in 'n grabbed the bike that was bein' worked on 'n ordered, "I'll take that. So you're the one that's responsible fer the new lock. Why, I oughta cuff you good. Gimme the keys. You've got no right in here, and, if I ever see you in here again, you'll get yours but good. Now, get outta here." He was mad as a hornet 'n went on with more
words, threats, pushin', pullin', pokin', cursin', 'n orders but still couldn't pry the bike away. He laughed when he heard who was the new manager of the bike shop, appointed by the superintendent. Before leavin' he let loose with a, "I've got people waiting fer these bicycles, and no dumb kid is going to ruin my business." He was right, 'n he knew it when he said, "Nobody will believe anything you say kid, so get out and stay out." He left but came back durin' school 'n got the bike 'n anything else he wanted. It was gettin' old after a month of makin' bikes 'n him a-takin' 'em, with only words t defend yerself. He'd been at the Boys Home so long, his word was gooder'n gold. The faithful maintenance man, sweatin' 'n workin' hard 'cause he loved kids so much, wasn't nothin' but a scoundrel. Ya can't be runnin' t other people with yer problems that ain't important t nobody but yerself, not only 'cause no good'll come of it, but you'd be a failure t yerself 'n feel bad 'bout not bein' able t solve things by yer own wits. In all our battles with words, him smugly laughin', fulla confidence, there'd never been no mention of suspicions of him overorderin' 'n disappearin' buildin' materials. That was a different business, 'n he could keep on liftin' things, jus' like the cooks, with no squawkin' 'r squealin' from this end. His business! His risks! His greed, however, had brought on one of those risks. He wanted it all 'n wasn't willin' t share nothin' under any circumstances with
nobody 'r even give 'em their rightful due. It really wasn't the stuff that bothered ya. It's strange how some things'll work on ya, 'n others what seem worse, at first glance, don't bother ya a bit. The reason t decide t act was almost silly - laugh if ya like - 'n wouldn't seem t be important t nobody. It's somethin' you'd wanna keep t yerself. It wasn't his greed 'r stealin' from the Boys Home 'n the kids 'r even his cursin' 'n laughin' atcha that was worth botherin' about; it was the thought of him cheatin' all those good folks outside that'd donated what they could. Those same folks - that'd provided lots of jobs when they coulda done 'em themselves, invited kids out t their homes, picnics, games, circuses, 'n even came t help ya with yer homework - was now bein' victimized by this wretch. These folks, knowin all the while they hadda deal with some real ingrates, kept on a-tryin. They wasnt under no obligations, jus tryin t give a hand; n the thought of cheatin' these folks outta their little doin' what they could didn't set too well. He'd been preyin', abusin', 'n makin' a business offa the goodness of others, and, with goodness in short supply, ya can't afford t waste any. The guy was worse than some louse of a parasite. He sure wasn't no shinin' example t follow, lest ya wanted t breed scoundrels 'n crooks. This don't make sense, fer sure, but human nature's funny that way. It's the small things that get t ya. Don't spread this around. That sure was a long paragraph, wasn't it? More 'r less a mess, huh? Now, t the action. There wasn't gonna be no snitchin', but a fella could bring things t someone's
attention, the superintendent's fer example, in a round about way. This guy hadda be stopped! Accusations wouldn't work 'n couldn't ever be proved 'cause they was words that could be bent 'r twisted any which way the wind happened t be blowin'. The superintendent was gonna hafta catch him "in the act" 'n put all the pieces together hisself. Course, couldn't be nothin' wrong with a nudge in the general direction t get things rollin', him bein' so busy 'n not wantin' t waste much time on such a small matter. It wouldn't be his problem 'r concern unless ya made it his own personal witch hunt. Ain't no fury like yer own righteousness when ya discover you've been bamboozled. There'd be swift judgement. Be no dallyin' round with words. Straight t the ax! Let the heads roll! Wheew! Got sorta carried away there. The need then was t design somethin' that he'd think was his own idea 'n with enough clues that he could personally discover lotsa things, yet simple enough so's he could understand it while not appearin' t be a snitch job. The only boundaries fer yer imagination would be the truth. Here's how the superintendent was approached a few days later. 'Cause of the terrible stutters, the dialogue is recorded in normal people talk. "Sir, would it be possible t use them last two planks what's left from the huge pile of lumber that was unloaded way out on the other side of the back pasture? Couldn't figure out what the lumber was used for, but them last two planks would sure come in handy fixin' a stall in the barn. Was gonna ask fer a couple outta that last pile
out there, but it was all used up someplace before there was a chance. The big pile behind the o1' deserted dorm didn't last long either. Sure is a lotta buildin' goin' on someplace." He said, "Check with the workers down there first, and if the planks aren't needed, you may have them." After leavin' his small office in the top of the administration building, the whole plan started t look pretty corny 'n couldn't possibly work. Talk about way out in left field. Nothin' like this ever happened - in the Hardy Boys 'r somethin' from Doyle maybe, but not fer real. T think that this was yer best shot made ya hope that nobody ever found out about it. There sure wouldn't be no problem of ever gettin' hooked on solvin' yer problems this way 'n windin' up a politician 'r a ratty, gossip mongerin' church biddy. The real discouragement was bein' betrayed by yer own mind. Snuck right up 'n pulled a dummo, it did. It was outta control! The mind had a mind of its own! Talkin' too much t mice, rats, 'n goats'll do it. The maintenance man was probably right: "no dumb kid" was gonna ruin his business. Oh well, back t the drawin' board. Only this time you'd better keep hold of yer senses. No more of this tomfoolery. A sensible solution was found. The basement was a catacomb of supportin' walls that created lots of dark passageways 'n rooms. One small storeroom, that was hidden well outta the way, was discovered after diggin' out another couple hundred bike frames. The bike frames was then all heaped back in front of the small room, but
with a catch. Even though it looked all heaped up, ya could get in by knowin' the combination of which bike frames t move. If ya moved the wrong one, itd all lock up somethin terrible, n the whole piled have t be moved. It was a good bet that nobody knew about this room, 'n, if they did, hundreds of frames, sprockets, chains, 'n wheels all locked together created a very effective, cursed barrier. The maintenance man could now steal only what you'd let him steal, which he did, cuttin' right through a new lock each time. This was what ya might call a compromise. There was givin' 'n there was takin', 'n everybody was happy. Sorta! One day, a month 'r so after the dumb idea, while packin' hundred pound bags of feed out t the chickens, the superintendent's wife got t talkin' 'n braggin' on how her husband had uncovered a scandal. She talked on 'n on, fulla pride 'n "Oh my goodnesses", 'n then left t go 'n tell somebody else. It seems her husband got suspicious about construction materials 'n projects 'n set about t conduct his own silent investigation. He started checkin' out receipts, orders, 'n projects from way back 'n called buildin' material suppliers fer estimates 'n advice. He found that the maintenance man had been overorderin', false orderin', 'n stealin' everything ya could imagine from the Boys Home. The superintendent had even let him pack off materials a few times before catchin' him in the act but good - when he unloaded the materials out of his van at his house across town. She said her husband was furious, and, besides firin' him right
there on the spot, he was rantin' about criminal charges, jail sentences, 'n fines. There didn't seem t be nothin' bad enough for this scoundrel. What should a fella make of all this? Well, right off, the cooks'd sure be layin' low fer one thing, 'n there wouldn't be no need t buy any more locks fer the basement. There was a good feelin' that yer mind hadn't really forsaken ya after all, but also an uneasy feelin' thatcha didn't have much control 'r even know whatcha was gettin' inta, once ya started it a-workin'. The mind had methodically calculated everything 'n knew it would work. Anybody that had one coulda done the same thing. The mind'd be faithful t whoever used it, fer whatever reason 'r motive. There wasn't no good 'r bad with this genie; jus' rub the lamp 'n start stealin', lyin', coverin' up, creatin' fear, buildin' facilities, helpin', teachin', 'r whatever anybody's imagination could stir up. Up till now, thinkin' had been taken fer granted as a good, harmless way t solve simple problems. That was before it had been used fer plottin'. Somehow it'd lost its innocence 'n was now in the big leagues. Maybe that's what didn't set well. A guy had t come t grips with this, 'r he could wind up in the same trap as the maintenance man 'r worse. Ya got the feelin' somebody had given ya, as a gift, the most complex mechanism in the whole universe, fully equipped but with no directions on how t even plug it in let alone use it. If the barn was the promised land, then this basement -fulla gears, sprockets,
chains, 'n frames - was the lost kingdom. Bikes had wheels, 'n wheels could get ya someplace away; 'n the better the wheels, the further away ya could go. Bikes was made one after another, tested, tore apart, 'n rebuilt t the beat of something could always be made better. When there wasn't no parts t fit the idea, they was made. Friction, drag, wind resistance, weight, 'n gear ratios was hard taskmasters that never relented. Traditional gears that was available in 1955 was inefficient 'n couldn't be depended upon. The basement was so cluttered with gear 'n clutch inventions, ya could hardly get around. This inventin' stuff was strange. Ya tried yer darnedest t make somethin', ya didn't know what, doin' it furiously. Now if that don't beat anything ya ever heard. The obsession of beatin' out one idea involvin' movin' the gears outside, by a system of different sized sprockets operated by some kinda spring clutch, brought a few surprises. The Boys Home was a good place fer film producers t make movies 'cause of the ready made audiences 'n large facilities. One surprise came, while watchin' 'em make a football movie, when one of the actors rode through a scene on an old bicycle. The response was explosive 'cause the ancient crate had the same multiple sprocket system what'd been plaguin' yer mind so long. After makin' a stutterin' deal, with a very patient actor, t buy the bike, the movie makin' continued. The deal was, that after the bike was bought, he could keep
everything except the back wheel, 'n that'd even be replaced with another one. Ya couldn't beat a deal like that. The actor said they hadda use the bike on another location, but he'd get in touch when they was finished with it. Well, ya can only do whatcha can do, as desperate as ya might be. The actor struck ya like someone who'd stick t his word. You'd probably made a fool of yerself, but it was well worth takin the chance 'n seizin' the opportunity, hollerin' 'n stoppin' the filmin'. A month later the superintendent sent a note down sayin' one of the movie people had sent a bike over, especially fer some kid. He didn't know the kid's name only that he stuttered 'n knew a lot about mechanisms. The actor was Tyrone Power. A man who kept his word to a kid. The initial surprise of this antique, authentic, stage prop, 'n its unique mechanism quickly wore off 'n turned inta a puzzle. Why hadn't the advanced technology of this mechanism that'd been invented so long ago by Frogs in France, an ally, ever reached the United States? The inefficient mechanisms we was usin' over here gave credit t the Frogs over there fer their genius. They was alright, them Frogs was. What made ya feel like you'd made a fool of yerself was realizin' you'd been tryin' t invent something that'd been invented years ago. What a waste of time! There was gonna hafta be somethin' done about gettin' in touch with the rest of this world. The bike was entirely stripped down with every part bein' examined 'n
compared t similar parts of our bikes. There wasn't no question about it at all. Under the years of grime 'n abuse in uncarin' hands, it was revealed that some Frog in the basement long ago had put a heap of thinkin' inta this creation. Every part was better built, simpler, lighter, generated less friction, 'n was made t last longer than any we produced. This bike was built t be used -- inta the next century. When it was thoroughly cleaned, greased, oiled, 'n wheels realigned, it extended yer range from twenty ta a hundred miles a day; not quite t France, but closer. This time, instead of tryin' t invent ways of addin' more sprockets t the existin' three on the back 'n one in front, the search was t find out if the Frogs 'r any other people had already invented ways. The search ended in a small combination bike shop 'n pit stop fer a few bikers from Europe that liked t race their bikes but couldn't find anything suitable here. They had ten t fifteen speed derailer systems available, but it was decided t build one instead of buyin' one right out. This would avoid makin' the same mistake over again. If one country had invented a better part than another country, why not look 'n see what other countries had stirred up, as best ya could. There was lots of parts 'n lots of countries. Besides this, you'd know yer bike like the back of yer hand 'n be able t make repairs 'n improvements that'd otherwise be near impossible in this country. Six months later it was finished. The frame, bought from a visitor from Switzerland, was an
older model magnesium alloyed Jane Airts, much lighter than France's Allegro. The drops was German, 'n the wheels 'n Companola derailer gear system were French. The light, ancient, leather seat, along with the rest of the parts was all of European descent. The only thing American about the bike was the air in them sew-up tires. The end product was a bike twenty percent lighter than the best France had t offer 'r any the club's European racers had ever seen. The range doubled again. With two hundred miles a day range, the ocean, desert, 'n mountains were now opened up even more, along with some more problems with cars 'n trucks. Carloads of kids, from the outside, was continually peltin' ya with beer bottles 'r comin' up behind ya with long sticks t whack ya in the head 'r throw 'em inta yer spokes t watch ya crash inta the concrete 'r traffic. They sure knew what t do with the cars their parents bought 'em. Another favorite was t drive up in back of ya 'n keep nudgin' yer back wheel with their car t make ya go faster. Big truckers in the isolated mountains liked t do this 'n could get ya goin' fifty, sixty, 'r even over seventy miles an hours down hills, blastin' their horns right up behind ya, laughin' all the while as they ran ya off the road, crashin' inta the mountain 'r off inta a ravine. Of all the trucks that ran ya off the road 'n the cars that clipped 'n hit ya, as they came up the wrong side of the road, 'n the kids that cracked ya up (all leavin' ya banged up, bleedin', and, once, unconscious), there never was one that stopped t give ya a hand 'r even
curse ya fer bein' on their road. Seemed that once someone got behind the wheel of all that power, he couldn't control it, 'n it overcame him. That might be a good test t see if someone is capable of not lettin' power get a hold of 'em. Alcohol didn't make nothin' better either. People t be put in power positions should first be tested in cars n next be prohibited from alcohol fer their term of office. The superintendent would write up letters fer the four hundred t five hundred mile jaunts so the police wouldnt think ya was a run-away r vagrant n interrupt ya. Theyd jus wish ya luck r anything else they could do t help ya. Good folks! Anyway, France was gettin closer. Now that there was a place t work undisturbed, there was serious work t attend t. Normally, everything electrical (like batteries, bulbs, wire, coils, 'n small motors) was confiscated 'n destroyed as soon as the housemothers found out about 'em. They'd search yer dresser drawers regularly fer these "evil" things 'n, likewise, read 'n confiscate any notes 'r treatises they found in the process, too. Then youd be squintin, limpin n hurtin fer a month after the housefathers n counselors got done with ya. Yer delicate gadgets couldn't take as much of this righteousness, wrath 'n destruction as us kids could before they ceased functionin' properly. So ya can see why they'd be more'n interested in movin' down t the security of the basement laboratory. Either that 'r the crunchies. In this calm 'n quiet, inventin' moved at a rapid pace.
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Like the teeny, ingenious, Japanese fold-up bicycle someone had donated, all yer inventions was practical: tiny readin' lamps fer books, multiple purpose circuits, burglar alarms, bug catchers fer chickens, slip clutches, flywheels, screw pullies, hydraulics, frictionless bearings (magnetic polarity), lookin' fer the other charge t harness static electricity, the ground battery, aerodynamic plane models (most planes was built backwards 'n designed t crash, not glide), 'n pest traps. The last was another example of parallel inventin' comin up soon. Then there was this ponderin' that kept workin' on ya. This brain thing enabled ya t do 'n think about all sorts of things. Why, wouldn't be surprised if man figured out a way t get up t the moon 'n beyond some day. Didn't appear t be such a great problem once ya sat on it a spell. The tough part'd be gettin' through our atmosphere, what with gravity 'n all. After that it'd be clear sailin', if ya could figure out yer trajectory. Course if ya wanted t come back, that'd be another chore. Comin' through no resistance in outer space 'n then hittin' our soupy atmosphere with all its friction probably'd sizzle ya right up. Then there was still that problem of the driftwood always landin' up on the beach. Well, yer reasonin' had progressed some on that matter. An object at rest was not natural 'cause rest appeared t be too much friction; 'n any stationary object would create currents of things havin' t go around it, wind 'n forces not seen that'd be capable
of movin' it if it was small enough not t be affected too much by friction 'r somethin' floatin' on water 'r oil t reduce the friction. An object sittin' there, appearin' still, would still be strainin', vibratin', 'n quiverin'. "Not at rest" tends t remain "not at rest" in relation t the resistance of forces workin' on it. Therefore, somethin' tiny like hydrogen, would be the least likely t remain "not at rest." Then there was objects reactin' t objects. Like planetary masses, the big affectin' the littler. Course ya could see that in the planets 'n moons way out there, without much atmosphere 'r friction. Freer t act they were, t go about affectin' each other unnaturally, but still, as a whole, a galaxy goin' someplace naturally. A force that affected everythin' as a whole. So, stands t reason, that if ya put two objects on the table, one larger'n the other, (though ya couldn't see it happenin', only in yer mind) the bigger object would be affectin' the littler. Somethin' besides the obvious, wind 'r gravity, here. It would be like a magnet. You could see the big attractin' the littler object, thus interferin' with its natural movement. Attract it in any direction it would; little t big anyplace. Next this led t thinkin' about where this force came from. It'd be easy tracin'. Line up some stars, the further away the better, on either side of the earth at the same time 'n draw a line, 'n you'd get a handle on which way yer galaxy was a-headin'; course, the stars, bein' matter, would be movin' also. Point ya closer t the center
anyway; where we'd come from, started, some while back. Could be all galactic roads lead t Rome. Now wouldn't that be somethin'? Course, again, with this whole set up bein' so big, there might be more'n one Rome. Seems like a lot t hinge on a piece of driftwood. Stretchin' it some, fer sure. Still, must be a way t make a simple model? Course ya realize that all this movin' 'n travelin' stuff is only temporary, like everythin' else. Wherever it all began, it sure wasn't here, by a long shot. A nickel's worth of geometry'd tell ya that, what with the Big Dipper's pattern changin' considerably since last that Chinaman long ago recorded its pattern. A fella got points showin' distance travelled 'n time, a millennium 'r two, 'n he shouldn't have no trouble comin' up with the speed of the objects. Be a powerful lotta miles movin' somethin' fierce, yes, sir! Hardly the point though. 'Pears this rock we're on's movin' right along with 'em, keepin' track. Extendin' yer nickel's worth of geometry some t take inta account what appears t be an expandin Dipper pattern, n doin some triangulation along with that speed n distance, n youd more n likely come up with a point way back yonder, billions of years ago, where it all started; probably with one helluva show of fireworks. Moren likely all matter started out with a constant speed at the beginnin of that journey; everythin from electrons around protons t attractin formin chunks that later became planets, moons, n stars, you name it, all movin at the same speed created by
that original force. And as it all slows down, laws slow down, become different than original laws, n the force that keeps electrons in orbit around protons becomes weaker until there isnt no more speed n no more force; n larger things attractin smaller things kinda rules take over, maybe gravity, but could be somethin else though. Without that force, thingsll be likely t collapse startin with electrons slowin down n eventually crashin inta their protons inta all but memories. Planets, moons, stars, n galaxiesll be the same; whole universell be one mass all crunched up inta a surprisingly small chunk of solid pure matter, with no more spaces between electrons n protons. Marble size maybe even. Anyway, wont be no energy left at all after that original force finally winds down. When that electron finally meets that proton, that'll be it folks. Won't be no more nothin' happenin' 'round this town. This here universe will be an awfully dead place t spend Friday night. World won't even be a memory anymore of a place where twolegged critters lived in a no longer existent galaxy. Erased clean. Most likely won't be the first time it's happened though. With the universe now bein' heavier'n hell in its solid pure matter state, it'll now start t be hotter'n hell as pressure now creates heat that turns solids inta non-compressible liquids, which are then turned inta gasses with no choice but t expand; 'n she'll start all over again, probably fer the umpteenth time. Be somethin' t see, fer sure.
Course, with the universe so big, this process may be goin' on continually, like popcorn. Best not t mention this stuff; least not with any teachers round. Pears their electrons upstairs collapsed a long time ago. Then there was other things that was a-workin' on yer mind, like light, heat, 'n matter that all seemed t fit together somehow. Take light. Why it hadda be somethin' 'cause it could be bent, as through glass 'n water, 'n could be reflected off a mirror; 'n everybody knows ya can't jus' up 'n bend nothin'. Give it a try fer yerself 'n see. Take a hold of a couple big handfuls of nothin' 'n give it a try at a-bendin' it. Sounds foolish, but it's not easily done. Take a fella's word fer it that's already tried. And light can be created 'n made from somethin' else, 'n there's different kinds of 'em t boot. Fer example, solid matter things, like metals 'n wood, give off different kinds of light dependin' on the material bein' heated. Like light is a different state of matter. Guess that's how people in the know'd call it. Like water can be ice, liquid, 'r gas, dependin' on how much heat ya give it 'r it's got in it. Somethin' like that anyway. So ya see, if it can be created 'r changed from somethin' else 'n be affected, then it's jus gotta be somethin'. Yeh! A fella might even call it the fourth state of matter. Then ya can see it, the different kinds of it that is. Like the rainbow 'r comin' through the side of an aquarium 'r the different colors given off by different heated matter; 'n we all know, fer sure, thatcha can't see somethin' that ain't there.
Then if it hits somethin' dark, like out in the sun, it'll heat it up. Like throwin' somethin' in the fire 'r the friction caused by rubbin' somethin' together 'r cuttin' a bolt in two with a hacksaw; 'n who don't know thatcha gotta have movin' parts t have any friction? So light is jus' the other movin' part. But it's more'n jus that. Fer example. If it was jus' somethin' movin' that created heat, then all you'd have t do would be t heat some plants up in the dark, 'n they'd grow. Didn't work out at all, again; take it from somebody who's already tried. Nope! There's gotta be somethin' else in it, maybe akin t electricity -- which can be made by metal coils a-spinnin' furiously 'n travel through things like metals, water, 'n yer body. (Really good through yer body -- Wow! Somethin' worth writin' home about, if ya had one.) Then, when it gets through travelin', it can be turned inta light by heatin' a filament. Which means it can also be controlled as it travels 'n made t perform like a servant; which led t suspicions that matter was really cooled down 'r frozen energy 'n light. Then, if light was somethin', it could maybe conduct electricity 'r some kinda energy ' n be used instead of wire as light circuitry; and, if it could, it would, indeed, be matter. Then, if it was "the other movin' part", why not be both movin' parts? Perhaps, upon collision 'r interaction with itself, energy would be released at the intersection 'r
point of this contact. Could possibly be turned inta the creator 'n conductor of itself energy. With all that in mind, you'd been workin' on tryin' t figure out what it was exactly in light that plants use. The heat had already been eliminated, 'n the housemother had been confiscatin' all yer batteries 'n wire gadgets you'd been usin' t see if ya could grow plants, after the germinatin' process, in the dark with electrical currents. Ever try t figure out the voltage system of a plant, let alone the amps needed t keep it runnin', all the while with this big, "Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Of the Devil!" thing on the prowl, as the o1' biddies ripped 'em apart? Then there was thought conduction, like electrical 'r light, seemed close. Jus' awaitin' the right conductor, type of brain cell. Real person t person. Eliminate words, as they wasn't workin' out too good anyway. Fer that matter a fella could have a brain anyplace, 'r a couple, as long as they could conduct thoughts. One here 'r there, fer safe keepin'; jus' in case a fella lost his mind, he'd have another at the ready. Course, a fella gets t thinkin he knows a thing, he may start seein things that aint there n soon succumbs t frolockin with the idiots of grandeur n manifest destiny type things n becomes more the idiot by havin nothin t manifest. Fer sure, anything that could be bent, reflected, separated, transmitted, changed, conducted, controlled, 'n could create 'n produce, hadda be somethin'. Jus' needed more
time t ponder 'n experiment. How valuable time was! Maybe someplace out there its so cold, light n thoughts condense n crystalize, r so hot they vaporize. Someplace out there maybe where were goin! Well, here in the basement, ya could look inta things like that, as soon as ya got some more batteries, expensive as they was. Anyway, the thought was runnin through yer mind, foolish as it was, even t yerself, that if plants could be grown with electrical currents, there might be some kinda plankton at the bottom of the sea, r on dark parts of planets fer that matter, that could be supported; maybe usin local currents of some sortstatic, magnetic, polar, gaseous friction, etc. Sounds dumb r a close proximity t dumb, huh? Thats yer new word fer the day, proximity. Gophers everywhere! They was so much everywhere that most folks looked at em as pests. Well, one mans trash is anothers treasure. It didnt appear that people woulda minded what they did underground, 'r how many of 'em there was, as long as they didn't mess up their pretty lawns with holes 'n mounds. That was the poor gopher's downfall. He was not without his merits; unfortunately none of 'em was t his advantage. His fur was thick 'n soft 'cause it was much cooler underground 'n could be used t make lotsa things. Course, it'd take a few more of 'em than usin' rabbits, small as they was; though ermines ain't that big either. The grass roots they ate was clean, rich in
nourishment, 'n tasted good. Here's how you'd prepare 'em (the grass roots that is) if yer interested: dig out a good-sized chunk of yer lawn, say, a foot cubed; beat off the dirt n wash the roots good before eatin em. This last washin step is important cause we produce more saliva when eatin than gophers do, n itll all turn inta gritty mud in yer mouth. This mud is pretty rough on yer teeth, too, though it don't seem t bother the gopher none, eatin' grit; his teeth keep on a-growin'. Maybe he needs it t keep 'em from gettin' outta hand. Anyway, try it both ways t see fer sure which way ya like it best. While yer at it, eat the grass, too. Invite yer neighbors over t get their opinions. Exchange recipes. The gopher's next merit was hisself. What cows ate on top of the ground, gophers ate underneath. They was jus' little underground cattle when ya thought about it 'n could be marketed accordingly. Heres how ya prepare em: skin, gut, n plop em in a stew, skillet, oven, r on a barbecue spit. Ya might try stuffin em with roots n servin em on a bed of nice green grass. Not only are they tasty, but also real handy. Nothin' special's necessary fer the care, feedin', 'n raisin' of 'em 'cept a lawn. The noble gopher was also responsible fer the lesson in parallel inventin'. The superintendent proposed t anybody t come up with a solution t the gopher problem. That's what's good about problems; they created challenges 'n got yer juices runnin'. Since none of the other kids gave a stick, one way 'r the other, bout
green lawns 'r gophers, he listened t the idea of creatin' an incentive t stir 'em up -- a bounty perhaps. Two bits a gopher seemed reasonable. Past research on gophers had revealed they'd plug up any light comin' inta their hole. A month later - 'n such a pile of gadgets, wires, boxes, 'n bent things that'd scare ya t look at where yer imagination had led ya -- a small box with a bottom 'n one end left off 'n a small hole in the opposite end piece was stirred up. The idea was that the gopher'd try t fill in the small light source 'n set off a springed bar that'd get him in the middle. The problem was that the wire t make the spring was almost impossible t come by. When scroungin' failed t turn the wire up, the embarrasin' prospect of buyin' the wire reared its ugly head. Even thinkin' about the stutters got 'em worse, but there didn't appear t be any other way t get the wire. The spring wire was in the hardware store 'n also a new gopher trap that was almost identical t the one you'd invented in the basement. With the high cost of the spring wire 'n time involved in construction, it was cheaper t buy 'em than make 'em. It didn't say where it was made, but ya was sure some Frog in a basement someplace was busy turnin' 'em out. The cost was almost a buck a piece fer four of 'em, but they paid fer themselves, as expected, in two days. The strategy behind the operation was simple: only clean up the problem areas that bothered the humans; keep yer investment in traps t a minimum so's ya wouldn't overtrap t recoup yer investment 'r lose 'r have 'em stole by other kids.
By keepin' silent 'n secretive about the whole thing 'n only settin' 'n checkin' the traps real early in the mornin' 'n late in the evenin', most of the gopher stealin was eliminated. With the gophers bringin' twenty-five cents a piece, they was worth a pack of cigarettes 'n some gamblin' change t boot t any kid that hadda have his smokes - 'n there was a lot of 'em - so, when they'd run out 'n couldn't stand it no more, they'd go lookin' fer yer traps. Probably the only honest work any of 'em ever did. Any gophers stolen was traded around n would each bring half a pack of smokes instantly. The other guyd turn the gopher in t the superintendent n make a good profit. Some kidsd do the stealin but wouldnt take em t the superintendent. In the beginnin theyd steal any traps they found; but that didn't work out 'cause they didn't like gettin' their hands dirty doin' the diggin' t set the trap 'r know enough about gophers t make it work. So, ya see, another compromise was struck, t the benefit of all: they'd only steal the gophers 'n not the traps. Things have a way of workin' themselves out. It kept a fella on his toes competin' with the nicotine habit 'n its horde of followers. Somehow ya never figured the gopher problem'd be solved quite like this; but the incentive did work, 'n it sure was a challenge. Since were on the subject of good food, inventin, n stealin, why not get right t the kitchen n mess hall with the crooks. (Better crooks than cooks.) First the kitchen 'n mess hall. If ya got assigned t work here, yer day was pretty
well shot. There was: huge pots 'n pans t scrub; hundreds of dishes, bowls, 'n glasses t wash 'n stack; near a hundred pounds of silverware t wash 'n dry; near a half acre of floor t sweep 'n mop; fifty 'r more long, slobbered-on tables t clean; three hundred chairs t stack; servin' food two 'r three times a day; 'n helpin' the cooks open cans, stir huge vats of food, 'n serve it. "Surely," ya ask, "there can't possibly be somethin' that needs lookin' inta, here in this land of plenty?" One day, bein' assigned the can openin' job fer the first time, the answer was found t where all those metal shavin's in yer food was a-comin' from. When you'd open a can, some metal shavin's would fall inta the food from the opener attached t 'n over the food vat. The suggestions t the cooks t detach 'n remove the opener from over the food vat 'n attach it someplace else 'r even clean the years of foul smellin', crusted, pasty food from the opener, that'd eaten away parts of it - were more of a nuisance 'n only brought a reply, "Don't worry about it, kid." Thinkin' about all those metal shavin's that'd stuck in yer tongue, gums, cheeks, 'n roof of yer mouth - not t mention what they'd done t yer innards - was too much. So, when the cooks left fer a few hours, out came the tools from the bike shop, 'n the aged, filthy thing was dismantled (took some real searchin' 'n scrapin' t even find the corroded screws, 'r what was left of 'em), cleaned, 'n put back together. The constant pressure, over the years, from a packed cavity of a pound 'r so of metal shavin's 'n rank
food had not only long since plugged a tiny drain outlet in the back, but had also warped an openin' in the front plate seam 'n created a crack so the oldest crud in the opener would fall inta the food, bein' pressed out by the new shavin's enterin' the cavity. The cooks never even noticed the cleaned opener; wouldn'ta done no good anyway 'cause the opener was packed 'n filthy within' a month again. Well, it was easier t clean now, whenever ya had the chance. Don't know if all that rotten food, that'd half eaten up the metal shavin's, was responsible fer all the stomach aches 'n cramps us kids had, but the idea of it not bein' there was at least mentally comfortin'. The cooks was really pretty inventive in food preparation 'n was always careful t balance out the meals 'n stick t the four main food groups: salt, sugar, greasy lard, 'n burnt. Institutional food, which had always been bad in the past, reached new heights of awfulness under their creative genius. They had a thing: that all the food was t be cooked 'n ready an hour before the kids arrived. The cooks'd then sit around talkin' 'n smokin' while some of us kids cleaned up all the big pots, pans, grill, 'n served, so as soon as the kids'd been served they could leave. On a Saturday they'd have us kids make sandwiches fer lunch, so's they could leave early. Sunday they didn't like at all 'cause they'd hafta stick around 'n prepare a big, noon meal; but it'd be sandwiches fer supper. This way they could reduce an eight hour work day way down t a maximum of four hours: two in the mornin' 'n two in the evenin'. Get 'em in, 'n get 'em out! That
could almost apply t the things ya ate. The oatmeal 'n powdered eggs was both cold, gooey, lumpy, 'n salty; 'n the only difference between the two was that the eggs was burnt greasy brown 'n a lot saltier than the oatmeal. Fresh eggs was fried t rubber 'n left t soak in large pans of cold, salty, burnt, greasy lard fer an hour awaitin' the kids. The tall rotatin' toaster only put out burnt, black toast. One kid was always busy scrapin' most of the black off before paintin' it with butter, which turned into a dirty, grayish paste after it cooled 'n hardened, sittin' there awaitin. Bland, canned vegetables n sticky, sickenin sweet, syrupy, canned fruits could no longer be passed off as food after havin' tasted 'em fresh outta the garbage cans. Lunch sandwiches fer school was equally creative. The overall effects of eatin' this stuff the cooks prepared was the constant, stingin' burps, along with stomach aches 'n cramps. Luckily a lotta kids didn't really care fer the fresh fruit 'n vegetables they'd serve once 'n a while, so ya could stock up. It sure was handy havin' a bunch of egg-layin', research hens down at the chicken patch along with some commandeered, government powdered milk, left over from raisin' the goat, t keep ya supplied, 'r things woulda been tough on yer stomach at times. Course, an occasional gopher 'r chicken hit the spot, 'n ya could always snack on alfalfa, rabbit feed pellets, 'r the oats fer yer steer. The cooks probably couldn't help developin' sticky fingers, creatin' all those gluey, gummy foods.
There couldn't be nothin' wrong with packin' off any food the kids didn't eat, now could there? Let 'em have the stuff, if they can stomach it. That was the first clue. Who was gonna eat the awful mess once they packed it away? Unless, maybe, what they was walkin' out with wasn't so awful, 'r it was somethin' they "assumed" the kids wouldn't eat, stuff that'd never really been prepared fer the kids. Who'd know, 'r even care, if they was observed? Since they came 'n went by the back of the building 'n never left till all the kids was finished cleanin' up 'n gone, why, they could do what they wanted 'n nobody'd be the wiser - unless you'd spent a lotta time out in back of the building, say, cleanin' the monstrous incinerator nobody else wanted t clean, 'n happened t notice peculiar happenin's. They wasn't only packin' out things, but ya could see 'em bringin' back empty pots 'n trays when they came t work. Interestin', huh? Sometimes cleanin' out the incinerator 'n workin' in the kitchen coincided real close. This opened up an opportunity t observe what happened t the food you'd noticed 'em cookin' that wasn't never served t the kids. Once ya start honin' in on somethin' 'n get right down t the particulars, everything seems so clear thatcha could kick yerself fer not seein' it right off. The stuff they'd cook separate didn't really fall inta the four main food groups 'cause they'd work at breathin' life inta it, usin' a small box loaded with lots of different spices 'n concern. Even when they ate there, it was
food they'd cooked separate. Though the followin' details 'n specific account of three cooks leavin' fer home after breakfast occurred on a Saturday mornin', it was typical of any day of the week. First the rolls. It was real convenient 'n polite t greet one woman cook with a compliment on how good the pan of a dozen 'r so hot cinnamon rolls smelled - as she put 'em inta the trunk of her late 40's Packard out back as she was leavin'. Her response revealed more'n what first met the eye. There wasn't no, "Why, thank you," acceptance of an honest job well done; but, instead, there was a start, gasp, quick turn, fear in the eyes, 'n guilty look, followed by a hesitant grope fer a quickly made-up, fumblin', hard t swallow, defensive need t explain 'n hopin' the kid'd believe it was fer a large convention that the superintendent was at someplace; 'n that she hadda get it t him real quick. No details, jus' someplace. Well, right off, it was an obvious, first time gettin' caught in the act response. Sorta fun watchin' her squirm. T start with, ya didn't hafta explain nothin' t no kid. Next, a dozen small rolls fer a large convention sounded almost biblical. Besides, he was a meticulous man that prepared well in advance so nothin'd go wrong. Next, though yer gut instinct 'n gettin' the hang of readin' between the lines 'n words was pretty reliable, ya still needed proof. Remember all them chickens next t the superintendent's house that needed feedin' twice a day 'n who was partners with who? That mornin', before breakfast kitchen duties while feedin' the
chickens, the superintendent's wife had been out in the yard 'n had mentioned, that, since her husband hadn't any obligations today, he was gonna take the whole day off 'n stay at home t get some much needed rest. But, t make sure, a quick check, after the incinerator was finished an hour later, revealed hed been at home all the time. You'da figured the cook woulda learned how t lie 'n hide guilt, workin' around all them kids. Definitely a skill she lacked. Ya sure wouldn't wanna go inta business with someone like her who didn't plan 'r cover her bases. On t the next cook. Even though he thought kids was a nuisance, his response t how good his beef stew smelled underlined his guilt. His, "Get outta here! You're not supposed to be back here," followed by the grumbles was unnatural, not only fer him, but fer anybody. Us humans, as a whole, all suffers from a kinda weakness, in that any of us can have our heads turned by a compliment, 'r even a piece of one, fer some personal accomplishment - unless, maybe there's somethin' sordid underneath that triggers a defensive cover up. There musta been something powerful about that pot of stew t override all human nature. Now think! Who, in this recognization-starved world we live in today, is gonna tell someone, who gave 'em an honest 'n polite compliment about somethin' they'd personally created 'n took pride in, to, "Get outta here!"? Ya see, there's more'n words t a story. Let's move on. The third woman cook came out with her usual bundle of eggs, wrapped in a
thin dish towel, 'n another paper-wrapped package that had the shape of one of the large cheese blocks the Boys Home got. Whose t know if ya used real eggs 'r powdered? And there's plenty of cheese. Bein' as ya couldn't compliment her on her cookin', 'n she only hadda handful of yards left t her early 40's Hudson coup, she got what came out. When she was asked if she'd seen the superintendent, who'd said he'd be right over t see what work hadda be done, she blushed, put her head down, made a feeble smile, tightened her grip on her goodies, 'n made a quickened beeline fer her car. She jerked the door open 'n hurriedly tossed the bundle of eggs onta the front seat, with the heavy box of cheese landin' on top of 'em. Ya could tell, by the egg stains comin' through the thin dish towel, she'd broken a mess of 'em. She never did stop t answer the question before she was long gone in a cloud of exhaust. We'll leave this one t the audience t play with. The cook people wasn't no different than other people with maintenance man appetites, goin' about their schemin' 'n gettin' caught up in the spirit of it all, unawares. Toastin' their own Mad Hatter's Tea; convincin' themselves there couldn't be nothin' wrong with it. Let 'em have their small delusions. Life couldn't be much fer 'em anyway if they didn't think they could get somethin' outta it -- however small. Let 'em have their day. Their edge on it all. Didn't make no difference. Like everything else, it's only a game in
yer mind. Food wasn't nothin' t get bothered about; besides, it didn't concern ya, not like rippin' off bike parts. Anyway, everybody somehow had a right t steal food. This whole bit of intrigue was jus' somethin' that hadda be knowed, like everything else that hadda be knowed, 'n nothin' more.
CHAPTER 13
Now a look at what the outside jobs was all about 'n the people that provided 'em. The only similarity between outside 'n inside jobs was that the folks on the outside paid more money, but that's where all likeness ended. Even the prospect of more money couldn't coax most of the kids t take 'em, lest they was an easy touch, 'cause there was a heckuva lot more to 'em than the easy Boys Home jobs. The kids, as a whole, felt that the world somehow owed 'em; 'n they'd complain' up a storm 'n foulmouth if they hadda do much work at all fer any money they'd get on a job (symptoms surprisingly similar t the "Christmas 365 days a year, everything fer junior, rich kid's syndrome"). With the outside jobs came the responsibility of followin' directions 'n doin' a good job, 'n if ya had some time left over, you could clean 'n repair tools, fences, gutters -- who'd complain? Yet, there was somethin' more goin' on out there that kept gnawin' at yer insides, that ya couldn't quite put yer finger on, like you's gettin' plugged inta another
one of those powerful, primitive things. These outside folks included movie stars, playwrights, doctors, lawyers, bankers, carpenters, electricians 'n other skilled craftsmen, housewives, policemen, writers, n homeowners of every sort who provided jobs, that at times showed obvious signs of bein' created, which meant that they was goin' outta their way t give ya a hand, as they didn't owe none of us nothin'. Many of these folks was highly skilled in numerous areas. Fer example: one successful playwright was also an excellent landscape architect (ya shoulda seen his terraced mountain backyard); kept a large aviary; was a good pianist; adept at stocks n bonds; treated rich n poor alike with the same civil code of respect n courtesy; liked t sweat n work hard, even though he was over sixty (respect, courtesy, 'n sweatin' was skills, too). These kinda folks led quality lives 'n appreciated anything that smacked of it, from dirt holes t shingles. Yet, it wasn't the time, quality, 'r even the numerous 'n different skills themselves, that they freely gave, that could account fer this "gnawin. Workin' with these folks was similar t servin' apprenticeships fer every trade 'r skill ya could imagine, all at the same time, n every man Jack one of 'em had this compellin' urge t pass on some skill 'r bit of learnin'. The other kids'd complain up a storm, "They's always tryin' t teach ya somethin. It wasn't what they was sayin', but that they was compelled t say it. Humans had an urge t teach, t pass on, by instinct,
same as rats n mice. Advice on anything. Natural babblin' fools, they was! An ancient trait in the animal kingdom, t insure that future generations would be taught "somethin'" that they needed t survive at that time. This urge got stronger 'n distorted yer perception, the older humans got. It appeared t be a last gasp lesson in how it should be 'r how it was, "way back when", the closer they got t older. This urge t teach, though real, didn't guarantee nobody survival --though yer chances increased significantly if ya met the other half of the qualifications. The other kids didn't wanna go back fer no more of this perpetual teachin' stuff. The ability r gift t receive the message was given out much more sparingly, at least here at the Homeall teachers wasnt learners. This whole process, of many teachers 'n few learners, was terribly inefficient 'cause of the tremendous amounts of wasted energy on the part of those tryin' t help the kids. There was just too few kids here at the Boys Home that had this ability t receive the message 'r desire t learn. Hence, those without this trait would be like the mass of populations of flies, crabs, rats, 'n mice that don't survive. Somebody's gotta get eaten, but, in the case of the Boys Home's population, it'd be almost everybody. But society had not permitted total elimination of these non-survivors, those without this desire t learn, only removal by isolation. This meant that the Boys Home's small population
was representative of the percentage of non-survivors of a much larger population, 'n you was livin' in the feed bag with the rest of the expendable consumables grist 'n fodder. Course a thirteen year old dont have near the skills r perception of a real growed human. With the jobs came money; only this time there was banker 'n broker skills t meet the responsibility of this stored sweat. The Boys Home's accountant lady wasn't that accurate (always in her favor), 'n, besides, anybody could take away yer freedom t draw out yer own money without yer permission 'r freeze yer account fer any infraction. 'Sides, the Boys Home didn't pay no interest. All that remained then was t act on these new skills. . This wasn't gonna be no piece of cake collectin' that 4% interest without gettin' yer hide nailed t the wall at the same time. The history of bankers pointed t a pretty shady bunch of scoundrels, what with things you'd read about destitute widows gettin' throwed out - that thing in '29 - 'n all them smiles. Beware! When yer dealin' with hard earned callouses 'n sweat, ya couldn't trust no one, especially if they smiled too much. Rememberin' past experiences. Try holdin' one artificially, a smile that is, a full minute. Feel silly, don'tcha? Gigglin' helps. Must be powerful drives involved in wantin' t deceive. Practicin'! T get right down t it, even though the idea of 4% on every hundred dollars
(sixteen free gophers a year) sounded good, this was only secondary. The real reason was t learn the ins 'n outs of another new skill so, when the time came t leave, this tool usin', Homo sapien son-of-a-gun was gonna be prepared t escape this whole mess but good. Endurin' 'n hopin' ain't enough. Gotta be prepared one day t burn yer bridges 'n not look back. The big picture here. Keep yer eye on these banker fellas, 'n it couldn't be no more difficult than strikin' up some compromise with the maintenance man 'r the other kids 'n yer gopher traps.
CHAPTER 14
The Boys Home was dead set on developin' our moral fiber (like the Lieutenant), doin' it with such zeal that they was blinded t what they was really a-doin'. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." The Boys Home was very respectful of this -- their version of it anyway. Whatcha had was the freedom t worship, but whatcha didn't have was the freedom not t worship. At least not what they didn't want ya t worship -- Freedom itself. Somethin' the foundin' fathers hadn't anticipated -- 'n them livin' so near t Salem, Massachusetts. Ya hadda worship! They gave ya a choice of three churches -- or else! Each of the dorm's authorities would really lay inta ya with their version of the right hand of God if they caught ya cuttin' Sunday school 'r church: straps, slats, switches, closets, detentions, loss of freedoms, meals, privileges, more duties, falsifyin'
things on yer records, threats, accusations, condemnations, 'n bein' extra wrathful if it was their particular church ya skipped. All they lacked was a stake 'n some matches. The preachers knew it, too, 'n went right along with attendance 'n prompt reportin', all the while a-knowin' there'd be thrashin's 'n strappin's fer sure. More'n willin', they was. Sunday could sure be a terror --especially if ya didn't make it through freedom's door 'n got the other door of holies, filled with wrath, vengeance, 'n all that other right hand stuff. Still, a risk worth takin'. Yes, sir, been smote by 'most all of God's many right arms. All of 'em takin' their best shot. But, where freedom's at stake, what's a lickin' compared t a few quiet moments in the hills observin' creatures. Well worth it. Ya pays yer dollar 'n ya takes yer chances. Besides, how could ya possibly worship without the freedom of trees, creeks, creatures, rollin' hills, breezes, 'n the peace 'n calmness they gave ya. Maybe all there is t a God is inside ya. Slowin' down 'n listenin' t nature. What with the thousands of cults 'n sects all tryin' t convince themselves that what they believe is OK, by gettin' others t believe it too -- security 'n rightness in numbers, usin' persuasive smiles, "or else," 'r, "It's just not proper to be your own individual! Says so right here," -- a fella could be pretty sure that religion's not the issue here! Not that simple! More t it than that, ya can be sure. This manicial trait of rigidness, fear n unacceptance of anyone r anything new r different, compellin them t blindly, unthinkingly n instinctively t beat everyone
inta sameness, control, was no respector of ideologies: religion, politics, society, school r whatever! Beat! Pound! Why was it a constant 'n painful struggle t keep yer freedoms, 'n how come they's always tryin' t take even the tiniest ones away every chance they got, fer any reason? How could they get t the place where they'd accept the beatin' of little kids if they couldn't get too enthused about worshippin' someone else's religious beliefs? What'd happen if some kid, say from one of the other many different religions on earth, didn't even wanna worship their God? Hell t pay fer sure, ya can bet on that! What could possibly cause someone t get so riled up 'n inflamed about that they'd come all apart unless they could control yer very thoughts? If this is how they interpreted yer freedom of religion, ya could be sure that the rest of 'em was also on their extermination hit list. Beware! In unscrupulous hands, what ya got could be used against ya. One word bent, twisted, altered, added, 'r misinterpreted, 'n what's the difference: makin' ya, 'r makin' ya not? equates t power! 1776 wasnt no first edition in this struggle! Everything in Nature leaves a trail of telltale characteristics where sometimes only persistent logic 'n inference can follow; this is such a trail back in time t a small clan of cave dwellers -- where unity of purpose 'n sameness was extremely critical (all clubs beatin' on one animal at the same time). Interpretation
This unity of purpose could only be supplied by a leader who'uz big enough t beat the dickens outta anybody who challenged 'r disagreed with him. So, the clan'd find peace, not only in not havin' t do any thinkin' 'r decision makin', but also in realizin' that the future of the clan was in the best possible hands -- BIG GUY. It wouldn't be no mystery as t what'd happen t some smaller member of the clan thatd let out a few grunts t the effect that, "He may be the biggest, but he sure ain't too swift upstairs," -- "whacks" fer sure. Everybody in the clan wanted it kept simple 'n uncomplicated. With no "new wave thought" 'r boat rockin' goin' round, they'd created an automatic cycle, entirely independent of thinkin' 'n as mechanical as a spider's web buildin', that'd spring inta action if the leader was killed. The next biggest man would arise, outta the non-thinkin' clan, t lead 'n make decisions which involved doin' nothin' any different than the way it'd always been done. It was foolproof, as long as whatever ya did involved a club. In reality, thinkin' would truly be unnatural 'n very disruptive in their unique decision makin' process of "How it should be", "The way it was", 'n "The Good Old Days". The thinkin' that the farther back ya go, the gooder it's supposed t get, ain't necessarily so. With the clan associatin' fallin' rocks, explodin' mountains, meltin' ground,
shakin' 'n crackin' earth, floods -- 'n not t mention all that ice -- with change, it'd be easy t see why they wasn't about t go lookin' fer it; 'n why uncomplicated, nonthinkin' sameness was such a high priority. Any change 'r hint of it t the established rut would be viewed as a threat 'n treated accordingly. Social differences, opinions, 'n views'd more'n likely be settled with that great moderator of truth 'n justice, the club. It'd be interestin' t see what remnants of this primitive force still existed in the population today 'n where this ancient fit inta the new. As time wore on, even with the best of their leaders givin' it their best shot -Ming dynasty, Khans, Pharaohs, Caesars, Czars, Louis XIV, Hitler, Stalin -- the ranks of the true followers was gettin' pretty thinned 'n burnt out; 'n it'd had t revert t those what wanted t control, havin' t force them what didn't wanna be controlled inta submission. Didn't seem t really go over that well. Bad feelin's all round -- with the leader now forcibly imposin' his rule, against the will of the clan, by usin' a really, really big club -- a close knit group of old line followers (an army) -- 'n killin' them what didn't wanna follow, 'n them what didn't wanna follow a-tryin' their darnedest t kill their unwanted leader. Messy! Definitely not anything like the peace 'n harmony that reigned supreme in the "Good Old Days" of that first cave dwellin' clan. Not only werent the kids at the Boys Home representative of the general population, but neither were all the "leaders". Fer, outta the cracks 'n dark places of the
present, there crawled fugitive remnants of an ancient past t "fill in the blanks" on the admission forms 'n march right inta this last outpost 'n refuge for those who craved control 'n sameness, from an ancient time long past, t make a last ditch effort t resurrect 'n repair the magnificent glories that once were the clan's but that now had fallen on hard times 'n lay rent 'n divided in a era of overpowerin' 'n constant change. But, under the Boys Home's unique circumstances, they'd have little trouble musterin' up followers t create a majority. Needless t say, therefore, here at the Boys Home anyway, the will of the majority still lay in the clutches of the old liners, along with the fate of the minority; n like Big Guy, 'n the Lieutenant, they each had a kingdom unta themselves that thrived on the scruples of lyin', snitchin', cheatin', stealin', insults, brown-nosin', 'n beatin' kids inta control, 'r their way of doin' things, fer whatever reason (queers, religious freakos, sadists, etc.). Once the majority ruled, ya had a democracy. Wouldn't make no difference what they believed as long as it was the most of 'em what believed it. Even if they was all a bunch of Brown Shirts with arm bands 'r cave dwellers with animal skins all believin' that what their leader said must be all right. By deduction, then, democracies must be the natural workin' order of things fer the species, but its survival depended upon diversification n adaptation t meet the constant changes. The majority ruled, but
the diverse minority kept it alive. Maybe, like animals, adaptin r extinctin democracies evolved 'n changed with time 'n circumstances. This particular level of natural democracy in the Boys Home, approved by you folks out therepassin all the tests of excellencemay not be the one enjoyed by you folks out there; as this one was not real good at dealin with change n diversity. If it is, then you folks out there got problems! Which brings us t the minority here. They all tended t be quiet kids who silently endured; content t go their own way 'n not bother others; liked bein' left alone; could be trusted 'n counted upon; didn't expect nothin' from nobody; read 'n had their own ideas -- one kid (besides yerself) even had a small study room 'n chemistry lab set up 'n hidden away in the o1' deserted dorm; worked without complainin'; tried t go straight; had more skills; didn't get involved in rippin' anybody off, squealin', welchin', cheatin', brown-nosin', smokin', pickin' on smaller kids, insultin', foulmouthin' (they wasn't above cussin' though), joinin' gangs 'r anything else fer that matter (non-joiners), stealin' yer gophers; 'n neither was they in no ways responsible fer the idle babblin' on of this one sentence paragraph that jus' got wrote, 'n that woulda probably rambled on 'n on fer another week 'r so if it hadn't been fer a powerful call from nature t find a bush quick. Hadda say that t catch yer attention, if yer still awake, t snap ya away from wordery 'n inta the reality that a kid can't live like that in here without it costin' him -- 'n
principles don't come cheap. Some'd say they was good, 'n others, bad; but the real sore point with everybody was that they was different. This, above all else, led to 'em receivin' more strappin's 'cause they didn't fit in. Bein' as they was quiet kids 'n, fer the most part, walked away from problems, they was easy pickin's t have some fun with. They'd get "set up" 'n blamed fer things by the other kids what really did the stealin' 'r whatever, 'n the dorm authorities would lay into 'em without a second thought. After all, if ya can't believe yer own brown-nosin' buddies, who can ya believe? Couldn't possibly be one of yer own what did it! These few kids'd get set up so much that, whenever anything happened 'r didn't happen, out came the slats. As they didn't whine, beg, squaller, 'r blame other kids, but quietly took the whacks (problems a-comin' down the road), they musta been guilty. Justice was satisfied, along with their appetites fer whatever charge they all got outta watchin' some kid, who they knew wasn't guilty, get the whacks. There appeared t be an ironic twist in the whole process. Try followin' this, if ya will, with some allowance 'cause it may 'r may not be fer sure 'n only the clouded imagination of a kid tryin' t see clearly through a lot of confused 'n painful feelin's. The only thing real about it was that it came from first hand experiences 'n observations of gettin' the whacks 'n seein' 'em given -- lots of gettin'. Those involved in the settin' up 'n administerin' of this Ku Klux Klan, kangaroo court,
railroadin' type of vigilante justice was somehow robbed, of whatever satisfaction 'r charge they was supposed t get outta watchin' 'n bein' responsible fer an innocent kid gettin' a beatin', by the kid not whinin', complainin', 'r showin' any signs of conformin' t the group 'r bein' their buddy. This'd frustrate 'n enrage 'em inta a kinda zeal t give him more 'n harder whacks; like he deserved it. But durin' their before 'n after tryin' t laugh, ya could see their victory had a hollow ring 'n only left 'em feelin' guilty 'n holdin' the bag. Couldn't none of 'em look ya in the eyes. If ya wasn't guilty, ya shouldn't feel guilty. What it amounted t was that the whole thing always came back in their faces. This quietly endurin' stuff really set this minority group apart. Now a lot of things ain't ferever, 'n, unfortunately, quietly endurin' is one of 'em. When a kid finally run outta ways, in his mind, of escapin' 'n endurin', 'n the whole thing'd got outta hand, the only stoppin' it then was gonna come from the kid hisself; 'cause the other unhinged, dummo retards figured they had a good thing goin' 'n would keep it up ferever. Generally take about a year 'r so, sometimes longer, dependin' on the fuse. Oh, that was another little thing bout this group, almost fergot. When one of these quiet kid's slow burnin' fuse finally run out, there was hell t pay: with flyin' teeth, chunks of flesh, knees 'n feet in huevos, faces smashed against metal lockers, 'n lots of crunchin', splatterin', 'n confusion. All in all, a genuine surprise
party fer the o1' gang. The olgang would all be caught with their pants down, along with their teeth on the floor; 'n havin' jus' exhausted themselves with laughter, they'd hardly have enough energy left but t spit blood 'n wonder, "My God, what happened?" Another thing about this second group was that they was good accountants: returnin' every whack 'n laugh with interest. You'da thought the mob woulda learned by now. Dumb! How soon we ferget! Yer own experiences had taught ya that pickin' 'em off one 'r two at a time produced a higher quality of much wiser dummies, true believers that wouldn't soon return fer more of the same. Anyway, they'd steal, set up, whack, 'n laugh; 'n the only recourse the poor kid had was t think, which, in time, 'n given enough material t ponder, might turn inta plottin'. Besides this, comin t an end of yer fuse, bein a trait of these quiet kids, the kid would probably get in real trouble, 'r even kicked outta the Boys Home when the higher- ups heard the dorm authorities', "We never did anything to make him feel uncomfortable. My, oh my, what could have possibly come over him." They'd eat it right up, them higher-ups would. Them higher-ups was probably well-meanin' folks, but it's good somebody else put all their parts together. In any case, the clan would now be rid of the misfit, with him a-sayin', "Good riddance," t the lot of 'em.
As dismal as the prospects of any potential 'r hope now ever arisin' from this small group of misfits might now appear, let's not be too hasty in passin' judgement. Unless we slow down a mite 'n take a closer looksee, we might make the same mistake as the higher-ups 'n get caught up 'n swept away believin' the dorm authorities' version of reality, fallin' prey t things as they first appear. See if ya can get a grasp on where this line of "misfits" within a democracy might lead us. Picture a clan of quiet, quick learnin', many skilled, idea producin' thinkers, content in a much needed diversity, that could band t meet any threat, goal, 'r challenge (a billion unrestrained, smooth runnin', creative, problem solvin' minds are better'n one), patiently exhaustin' all avenues before bein' forced t succumb t the last resort in order t survive in a nature that constantly devoured its own creations. The neat thing about this future clan society would be that it woulda been created entirely by natural evolutionary processes; which meant that at last we'd be workin' hand in hand with the powerful primal forces which, up till this time, had plagued 'n tormented mankind. At least with this approach, man really had some good chances of livin' happily ever after, 'n maybe even beyond. Course, the non-thinkers would slowly be weeded out 'n become extinct over the generations as functionless, antiquated relics, undesirable "misfits". Maybe they 'r their offspring wouldn't be able t find jobs 'r mate, 'r their reproduction might even be
restricted. Who knows what lies ahead 'r what's gonna be necessary t meet the demands of existence. Hafta think long-term, the real big picture, on this one. Sides, time does what it wants anyway. We jus tag along, hangin onta its shirttails, n try t keep up. Keep this under yer hat, will ya? The o1' dingbats, crazies, 'n sickos wouldn't take lightly t findin' out they're doomed t extinction. The sooner the better, fer what it's worth. Course, not a new idea gettin' shook of all undesirables -that's why yer here in the first place. If yer thinkin', "They're only behavior problems and a little counseling will straighten them up peachy," (usin' the quick 'n easy answer approach with words), then come on down 'n spend a half-dozen years as an inmate, 'n then do yer thinkin' with on the spot, lab experience behind ya. If ya don't think ya can spare the time, try the mice experiment (only a couple years), 'n it'll point ya in the right direction towards civilization. There was kids here that couldn't approach 'r hack hardly anything without aggression 'n viciousness, let alone anything like learnin', work, 'r skills. Like they had defects inside 'em, broken things passed on to 'em, 'r chemicals 'r hormones gone awry. 'Cause ya can't see a cancer tumor, leukemia, diabetes, 'r bent brain things from the outside, it don't make their existence less real. Inside spots is there fer sure, 'n words don't seem t effect 'em a bit. Like them whose minds get stuck in the mob mentality
settin', 'n they've lost the ability t change channels t the individual frequency settin'. Under the best of conditions, decent doctors, lawyers, preachers, 'n prominent businessmen will produce Ku Klux Klan draftees, eagerly awaitin' (with their homage 'n allegiance praises of, "Hell, they're only Jews, Niggers, Dagos, Wetbacks, Polacks, 'n Chinks -- Home Kids") t sign up; 'n the worst conditions will produce an Angelina 'r Boys Home thinkers. Almost seems beatin's 'n poundin's are necessary, 'r yer not gonna produce nobody t rise above the occasion, 'n maybe humanity's finest hour won't come t pass. Legend 'n folklore has it that preachers produce the worst kids. Could it be that they're the real Adam 'n Eve breedin' stock of this "evil" they 'n the o1' religious dingbats see 'n talk so much about? With 'em seein' so much of it around 'em, there must be a lotta it around 'em. Let 'em have the next world, as they can't find anything good in this world worth fightin' for. Leave this world fer those who wanna make somethin' of it. What better place fer it t hide -- the evil that is --than behind all them smiles 'n words. Anyway, contrary t contemporary social thought, this IS what would have happened naturally 'cause this IS what IS happenin' naturally right here. The DEEDS! The ACTS! The REALITY! We ain't got no more'n this. And if yer thinkin' words are more, then ya don't know where they come from. This IS what we humans are! With all this, a pattern was emergin' that was already startin' t sink in: that,
whatever man was now doomed to, it was gonna involve him havin' t exist by his own wits. Before we get inta the dismal reality of principles not comin' cheap, a note about the terrible grammar what's bein' used. Had it not been fer this desperate shot at writin' 'n the even more hopeless task of tryin' t read this gibberish (scribblin's from the past), there'da been no knowin' of how horrible it really was. Seein' sure is believin'. Ya know, it's hard enough lookin' like an idiot what don't know no better; but knowin' how t do better, yet not bein' able t, is worse still. The problem is yer bein' stuck in a recordin' time slot where yer not gonna see how dumb ya are 'n be able t do anything about it fer another couple years. It's difficult t resist the slidin' from accuracy inta correctness 'n the way things should oughta be writ. You'll be the first t know when we reach civilization. Only a few more years t go, so don't go t sleep yet. Right now we're stuck with words without glue. On t dismal. In the process of comin' t the end of yer patience with bigger kids, what needed t feel bigger at the expense of makin' ya feel littler, a few puzzles presented themselves t which there appeared no immediate understandin': Why did bullyin' even exist? How did violence get t be the law, judge, 'n jury here, from kids t authorities? Why did the act of violence feel so good? This last question, 'cause it was goin' on inside ya personally, needed some lookin' inta.
From the time ya was figurin' out how t stop the hasslin', t thinkin' about how t trounce the guy, t the bloody battle where only one was left standin', the whole process was unaccountably exhilaratin'. Though the bigger kids'd sure fight dirty, kickin' 'n usin' things fer clubs, they really didn't stand much of a chance -- with their crap-game flab, lungs wheezin' from cigarettes, 'n bloated egos --against someone fightin' fer their principles 'n freedom. Dont think they felt too glorious about the outcome of getting ripped apart by some quiet, little, bookworm type. The whole process was thrillin! Whether it was the plottin, vengeance, releasin frustrations, victory, r whatever, it could easily be addictive, like a drug, where ya gotta have more. Fer a lotta kids around here, that was the only real thrill they got. Recognizin' helped ya not t fall inta this trap, even though these brawls was regular occurrences. As ya picked off the brutes, one at a time, those higher up started feelin' more threatened 'cause they was gettin' closer t the kid what didn't take it no more. One good slug'd get their face black 'n purple fer a month, a bloody 'r broken nose, along with busted lips. They'd seen what'd happened t their buddies, every one of 'em, what pushed it too far, not knowin' when t stop. It mighta been that last kick in the huevos, 'r trippin' down the stairs, 'r the last set up fer swats, who knows? But, in that unexpected instant, tons 'n tons of hundred pound bags of chicken feed 'n bales of alfalfa would
explode in their face in one whallop. If they could get up, fer their pride, more of the same awaited. Like the man said, "It made true believers out of them." Soon even the next bigger ones in line started wisin' up 'cause they didn't none of 'em wanna be wearin' their mistake around fer a couple months. They was gonna have t pay dearly fer their cheap thrills. No possible way could they come out ahead. It was a bad move fer any of 'em t even think about it. Ya still wound up trapped inta defendin' yerself 'cause, if ya didn't, they'd be ferever a-beatin' ya up 'r stealin' everything ya had. Another kinda freedom that hadda be paid for, whether ya liked it r not; but ya still come out ahead. Savin the worse fer last, we now touch on the public school system.
CHAPTER 15
The school was pretty well controlled by the Pachucos (Spanish toughs that was born 'n raised in stateside cities 'n heavy inta gang violence upon innocents, but in no way representatives of all the good Spanish folks 'n kids ya knew that was livin' in peace 'n studyin' hard), so the teachers 'r administrators didn't get outta line, 'r they'd get their tires slashed, houses bombed, 'r themselves stabbed 'n beat up. With lotsa gangs on campus, there was usually fights everyday. The Pachuco guys'd always carry shivs, 'n their girls kept razors in their hair. The whole lot of 'em had stuffed themselves t burstin' with their own greatness; 'n all the marijuana 'n heroin they was inta inflated 'em even more. Don't think they ever realized how silly they all looked dressed like identical comic, vaudevillian soldiers, with baggy, khaki pants that hung so low they almost fell off, 'n white tee shirts with tightly rolled up sleeves. With bared, swingin' arms that threatened ya not t
notice every speck of their glory, from fingers t shoulders, plastered with homemade tatoos as blotched as their minds, they'd strut around school like bloated deities of cool, ferever combin' 'n primpin' their hair. These guardians of the public school was always at the ready t defend anything from anybody, which usually meant that some poor kid was gonna get ganged up on jus' fer the heckuvit if he didn't keep on his toes. There was always at least three of the Pachucos that'd jump some lone, unsuspectin' kid; never one on one. Sorta like everybody gettin' together 'n defendin' the family honor. So, if ya got hassled by one of 'em, you'd better be prepared t take on three 'r more -- all with shivs. The Boys Home kids'd get kicked outta school n sent back t Juvie if they was ever caught with a knife, n the Pachucos knew it. These guys could pretty well call the shots 'n not get inta any kinda trouble, as the teachers 'n administrators was really afraid of 'em. It reminded ya of Big Guy 'n Lucas; only now the Lucases was growed up, replaced books with shivs, was outta control, 'n would attack the very teachers who'd pacified 'em 'n didn't even have the huevos 'r perception t stand up t these thugs when they was years younger startin' out in thugdom. Course, when ya got right down t thinkin' 'bout it, teachers what was trained t teach shouldn'ta had t do the job of police what was trained t police; 'n if teachers
hadda learn how t police, in the school apprenticeship program t turn teachers inta police, then teachers would be the only ones that was learnin' any new skills -- policin'. Insteada sendin' the teachers t school t learn new skills what they probably didn't wanna learn anyway ('cause if they'da wanted t be police in the first place they'da went t police school), they shoulda taken the kids what wanted t learn, 'n them 'n the teachers coulda met in some barn way off, 'n the police coulda had the rest of the kids t practice their police trainin' on. School coulda made a great police academy, but not fer learnin' other skills. Society definitely needed t sit down 'n figure out what t do with this giant institution they'd created. It was like a huge, gangly, 'n horrid piece of furniture that a relative gave ya, 'n ya hadda do something with it: either burn it 'r put it in the attic. Unfortunately they chose t put it in the attic 'n ferget about it, where it sat fer years, breedin' vermin. Well that's the situation as it stood now; with nobody darin' t go up t the attic t see what hadda be done t the o1' relic, if it's salvageable 'r not, 'cause the vermin's got control. A few suggestions. Let's see what choices we got, both old 'n new. Right off, ya could go dig up Ghengis Khan 'r Atilla the Hun 'n start all over again; but even that wouldn't do ya much good unless ya really knew whatcha wanted t build 'n made sure that it didn't
wind up in the attic with the vermin in control again. Then there was always potential fer salvagin' the unwieldy relic if ya was careful not t throw good money after bad, 'n had what it took t rid it of vermin 'n keep 'em out. Goals could be changed with the times. Right now ya was forced t go t school t learn how t defend yerself 'r accept gettin' beaten up 'n intimidated as yer lot. Society might try shiftin' its high priority 'n love of violent skills t maybe somethin' like readin', math, 'n science kinda skills. Balance things out some. Jus' a suggestion. Right now society seemed t have put too much emphasis on the need of our schools t produce crooks 'n policemen. Now please don't misinterpret what's tryin' t be said here inta somethin' that could be construed inta accusations of, "He's some kind of anti-crook, anti-crime freak." Friends, nothin' could be further from the truth. Why, crooks 'n crime all have their respected places 'n are as democratic as mother 'n apple pie. Now think! What politician, seekin' election, could ever hope t get anywhere runnin' on a total anti-crook, anti-crime platform? Smear tactics from "decent" vested interests would run him outta town "tout de suite", blemished 'n besmirched. Everything would come t a halt in a government that needed it t keep it greased up 'n runnin' smoothly. National security'd be jeopardized. Gotta be careful, yes, sir, when dealin' with delicate, sensitive, time honored, 'n valued traditions of patriotism. Here's what's tryin' t be said, so listen carefully.
As it stands now, the schools are still inta more of a runaway war economy where there was an emergency situation t produce things in short supply like tanks, guns, 'n bombs; but after the crises they're still producin' their product, even after they've glutted the market 'n there's no more demand fer it. At one time we needed crime, crooks, 'n police t fill the growin' demand; 'n the schools faithfully did their patriotic duty t produce these skilled craftsmen, bless them. But, as times change 'n we look inta the future, we may be producin' too many of these artisans t provide 'em all honest work, like too many plumbers 'n carpenters. When that happens 'n there ain't enough of the right kinda jobs fer everybody, there'll be unrest, possibly violence, 'n a spillover of criminals tryin' t make out a livin' doin' somethin' they wasn't trained for, like bein lawyers, businessmen, 'r an overbalance of 'em goin' inta politics. Why, like right now, we're feelin' 'n seein' the past effects of the schools overproducin' crooks 'n crime, so that we're now forcin' 'n retrainin' our teachers t be police, somethin' they wasn't trained for. It's really not workin' that good, sorta outta control. This school business seems t have gotten away from us, but ya really can't put the blame on 'em, like it was their fault. They did a great job, when their country, in its darkest hour, needed 'em most. Like everything else, times change, 'n if ya don't keep up, with yer fingers in the business 'n yer eye on the till, it'll all go t seed, sittin' in an attic breedin' vermin. Better send some emissaries in t see what's goin' on up there.
Though it did seem a waste goin' t the trouble of forcin' all these kids together here 'n not teachin' 'em anything more'n they did. There wasn't nothin' ya could do about what oughta be; 'n gettin' by daily, in reality, was hard enough without gettin' tagged with a reputation. The word spread from the Boys Home t the large Junior High public school that there was some little seventh grader what'd beat up a bunch of high schoolers, one at a time, turnin' 'em all inta bloody pulp. The rumors was verified by lotsa high school kids that'd seen what'd happened t the other guys. Didnt make no difference how big ya was r if ya had clubs r knives; whoever ya was youd come out wishin youd never let the fool thought enter yer mind in the first place r listened t yer buddies on campus. They'uz like a rooster crowin' on a fence post. Up till now ya could keep a low profile by avoidin' 'n walkin' away from problems 'n keepin' real quiet (the stutters took care of that); unless ya was caught readin' a book someplace quiet around school, 'n then you'd get hassled a lot. None of this real heavy stuff started happenin' at the school until it started happenin at the Boys Home first. The real turning point was Floyd. Floyd, even with his greasy, duck butt n cootie sly hair, Levis down t the crotch, white tee shirt, cycle boots, 'n leather jacket was worthless without Bruner, 'n together they was even worthlesser. Most kids considered 'em jus plain rotten. Fer what
it's worth, not that it made any difference t anybody but themselves, they was both part Pachuco. Whether it was that what kept 'em together 'r their own worthlessness 'n rottenness that kept 'em glued t each other was hard t say. Both was bigger n older Boys Home kids, about six inches taller, thirty t forty pounds heavier n three years older than yerself. They was inta everything petty 'n violent that they could get inta: riflin' other kids stuff in the dorms; shopliftin' in town; breakin' windows 'n any other kinda vandalism; lyin' so much, even t themselves, that they actually believed what they was a-sayin'; continually beatin' up smaller kids t steal money, both doin' the gangin' up at once; spittin' on kids passin' by 'n tearin' off their shirt buttons; stealin' gophers; braggin' t everybody 'n cussin' at everything. Either one could fight pretty nasty if they hadda, havin' big 'n vicious on their side. They'd push as much as they could get away with. So when Floyd left the Boys Home t live with some relatives, there was relief all round; but the relief was short lived when he showed up attendin' the Junior High. Seventeen 'n still in Junior High gave ya an idea of Floyd's mental prowess, especially when he started believin' his own braggin' t the outside kids about how tough he'd been in the Boys Home. He soon hadda bunch of similar dimwitted followers what believed everything he was sayin'; after all, he musta knowed, bein' a former kid from the Boys Home hisself -- 'n everybody knowed how tough the kids was
in there. In this ripe new territory of unsuspectin' illiterates, none knowin' what a turd he really was, he rose t new heights of pomp 'n disillusion with all the glory he 'n his followin', misguided ignorants was puffin' him up with. He also knew exactly how t get Boys Home kids in lots of trouble by snitchin' 'r lyin' t the right authorities; he also knew they couldn't carry shivs, which he now packed all the time. Fortified by his own gullibility 'n bag of underhanded threats, he now boldly entered the dangerous arena of livin' up t his pack of lies 'n deceptions by provin' t his pack of brown noses that he was as great a stud as he himself had led everybody else t believe, 'n that was a lotta kids. There'd sure be crow t eat if he tried backin' out now -- trapped by his own delusions 'n lies that blotted out any reality 'r memory of what happened if ya pushed some kids too far, as somethin' that only happened in that past world with them old laws that couldn't possibly apply now in this sucker 'n patsy filled new world, where connin', lies, 'n deceivin' somehow worked 'n made it all real. After a month 'r so of spittin' on kids, kneein' 'em in the huevos, stealin' their change, 'n leavin' 'em with buttonless, torn shirts, 'n threats, he had proven his greatness by demonstratin' his excellent leadership qualities. Nothin' could stop him now. So, filled with his own omnipotence, 'n bein' egged on by his ever increasin' mob of scum,
he took the fatal step 'n entered no man's territory; 'n it being only but a couple months since him, Bruner, 'n some other suckies t the big dorm counselor got the meanest, toughest kid in the whole Boys Home, as a last resort, t come as close t killin' as possible the quiet kid that read a lot 'n wouldn't no longer take none of their flack. The outcome of that fight woulda put the fear inta anybody with a lick of sense. Here's a quick review of that incident that Floyd had been party t instigatin' -- but he had now so conveniently fergotten in his whirlwind spin t glory that'd clouded over 'n blotted out the consequences of what it was that he was about t bite off by startin' t hassle this same silent kid. Again, how soon we ferget. This incident was just the beginnin' of somethin' that got all outta control - - beyond the worst! God! Wonder if wars get started this way? Well, this one did. WARNIN'! DISGUSTIN' MATERIAL! READ AT OWN RISK! Those of you of queasy dispositions avoid this section, as it's the first-hand, unedited account of an unavoidable situation. Where, fer the sake of accuracy, the recordin' correspondent is forced from his passive objectivity inta personal reality. Hatcher was generally thought of as mean meat. He wasn't real smart, but, then again, he wasn't real dumb either; jus' dumb enough t let others use him fer their own ends. After a couple weeks of him doin his darnedest t start a fight, that everybody n himself knew would be over, as usual, after a couple clouts of his huge fists, he finally
succeeded. It all took place on the front lawn of the large mess hall late one afternoon. Hatcher got right inta swingin' with his large fists, countin' on makin' short work of this much shorter 'n seventy pounds lighter drip of a kid. Well, he got the surprise of his life after about ten minutes, tryin' t look through swollen eyes t see where the kid was at. Nobody'd ever lasted more'n a few thumps from this brute before. He wasn't near as fast as he'd been led t believe, but enough of his huge fists was gettin' through fer him t realize that the little kid wasn't only takin' everything he could give but was also returnin' it with a brutality 'n calmness he wasn't accustomed to, especially the methodical 'n calculated accuracy of his foe. By the half hour mark there was around fifty kids 'n a couple counselors formin' the big circle. It was at this time Hatcher was gettin' real shook 'cause there wasn't nothin' he could do t stop the kid - -kickin', bitin', hittin', clawin' -- nothin'! After a while, 'n a crowd of a hundred, he was wheezin' through blood 'n spittin' teeth, 'n still the kid kept takin' 'n returnin' his punches. You could see his cold sweats 'n the fear in his eyes when it finally dawned on him that he was in fer a lot more'n jus' the count. The kid was still connectin' with terrible accuracy at one particular spot in his stomach that'd buckle his huge hulk up, only t lose another tooth as he dropped his guard. A housefather 'n the big counselor turned on the overhead flood lights when it got dark. More time passed 'n the crowd got larger 'n
silently scared of what was happenin' in the ring. They looked like mute pillars, in the darkness against the glow of the floodlights, witnessin' some gory, ancient, sacrificial ritual; but who was gettin' sacrificed wasn't exactly as it'd been planned. It wasn't only that nobody, ever, had seen anybody take such brutal punishment as the little kid, but all this was overshadowed by the horrors of what he was a-doin' t the big brute. Nobody in the circle dared move a muscle, all standin' wide-eyed 'n gapin'-mouthed, not wantin' t fidget fer fright that whatever was in that kid might catch their attention 'n turn on them, seein' what it'd done t big, big, mean, mean Hatcher. The kid was possessed with a Beast; somethin' so terrible that it could, "storm hills, guts danglin', rippin' the enemy apart with bare hands." By the end of more'n an hour Hatcher could hardly stand, while the kid kept returnin' with untirin', joltin' fists that added more knots, welts, cuts, 'n sent blood splatterin' in the darkness. Hatcher's last kickin' 'n gougin' lunge found him on top, with his hands at yer throat, stranglin' 'n beatin' yer head against one of the sharp, disc shaped, metal sprinkler nozzles imbedded in the lawn. There wasn't no pain no more, only the knowin' that this couldn't go on too much longer. The end came, 'n the crowd knowed it too by the sudden gasp. With Hatcher's huge fists around yer throat a-twistin' away, 'r maybe jus' tryin' t hang on, he'd left what was left of his bloody, pulpy 'n knotty face unguarded 'n wide open. By now there was numb past tired all over yer body, but, with the mechanical effort of it countless
times before, the force that it took t pick up a hundred pound bag of feed with one arm sent a fist flyin' through the air with the speed of a hurled, runty chicken 'n caught Hatcher square in the face, sendin' blood squirtin' outta both sides of his nose, leavin' a chalk white imprint of the fist 'n all its knuckles on a flattened face where a nose used t be. The thud could be heard t every ear in the gaspin' crowd as they watched Hatcher's head jerk back, let go of his stranglin', 'n his whole body lift up 'n sprawl backwards from the impact of the blow. He rolled over, utterly exhausted, with hardly enough energy left t let the blood spill 'n ooze outta the corners of his mouth 'n flattened nose, only t see the kid standin' patiently waitin' t go another hour if necessary, with fleshless, bloody knuckles at the ready. Lyin' there, lookin' up from the ground, his eyes glowed white in the darkness with fear beyond fear, a kinda horror of what he'd got hisself inta 'n now lay helpless at its feet, finished 'n so torn up he couldn't imagine it was possible, least of all t him. He became even more horrified when he heard the kid ask him if he wanted t rest 'n start all over again. His beggin' plea of, "No more, my God, no more!" was jus' that -- a plea. All that was left now was t slowly walk over 'n look at the big counselor 'n all his brown noses, what set the whole thing up, one at a time, glarin' 'em right in the eye. Even with the darkness, n not enough strength left t feel yer own pain, ya hadda glare; somehow that was necessary unblinkin! It all ended here. No more! Now, wasn't that the longest, hardest t follow, 'n most
grammatically incorrect paragraph you've ever read! But, that's the way it hadda be writ. Couldn't stop till it all got out. END OF DISGUSTIN' MATERIAL. Maybe you was the only person alive that got, Wrong!, Stop! jerkin ya around inside? It took a half dozen kids t help cart Hatcher someplace t clean him up. The Boys Home hospital could probably patch, bandage, 'n sew him up on the outside, but on the inside he'd never be the same. He never did get in any more fights. Hadda tell ya about this little incident so you'd see what Floyd was gettin' hisself inta by startin' poppin' buttons on the quiet kid's shirt as he passed by one day at school. The word of Hatcher 'n the othersd hit school, and, with Floyd's brown noses seein' him hasslin' the kid, itd be a giant feather fer him t strut around r the possible fulfillment of a hidden death wish. He was outta his gourd with gloat when the quiet kid didn't do nothin' but silently look at him when he'd slunk up behind him with bent, rhythmically swayin' arms, hunched forward shoulders, slowly bobbin' head, 'n half closed eyes 'n ripped a button offa the kid's shirt; expellin' half his entire vocabulary in a low, long, drawled out, threatenin' moan that hardly vibrated the vocal chords, "Tough, punk, tough!" as he passed. Ya shoulda heard the low dyin', awestruck moans that came from his gang of flunkies as they watched 'n responded with the other half of their dynamic vocabulary in a lengthy discussion of approval amongst themselves, "Hey, man, cool," over 'n over
again', with bent, rhythmically swayin' arms, hunched forward shoulders, slowly bobbin' heads, 'n half closed eyes. Made yer heart warm, it did, t see such high levels of profound communication at work; 'n it'll be understandable 'n forgiven if there are any English teachers a-readin' this that hafta pause 'n reflect durin' this very movin' moment t wipe moist, wellin' eyes of pride. This went on fer a few more weeks, gradually increasin' in social significance: a handful of buttons; books knocked outta yer hands; ripped out shirt pockets; gettin' spit on; grabbin' ya by yer shirt 'n jerkin' ya forward. This last one'd come jus' before the kneein' in the huevos. Ya see, he knew about us, but, we also knew about him. His whole modus operandi -- from buttons t intimidatin' kids fer his cigarette money -wasn't nothin' new. Findin' more buttons 'n sewin' torn pockets was only part of everyday life, so ya could tolerate it, hopin' he'd get bored 'n leave ya alone. But not Floyd, he was after yer bread; 'n that kneein' in the huevos didn't seem like somethin' ya could take 'r leave, one day 'r the other, not t mention that bread business. No, enough was enough. The usual stutterin', "P-P-P-lease," "W-W-W-Wh-Wh-Why?" 'r "D-D-DD-Don't w-w-w-annna g-g-get in any m-m-m-m-more tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-ouble," only goaded him on further. Study, books, readin', 'n learnin', he figured, were fer wimps 'n chickens. Now this readin' 'n learnin' stuff ain't what it first appears t be. It's not like ya
can simply sit down 'n stuff some learnin' inta ya fer one particular reason 'r the other 'n leave it at that, thinkin' yer gettin' a handle on things. Nope, don't work that way at all, quite the contrary. 'Cause once yer mind gets a-hold of this material, it's more'n likely gonna use it fer somethin' ya really never intended it t be used for: bendin', reshapin', 'n finally, with powerful, sweepin', overridin' forces', reintroducin' it t ya on how it's really supposed t be used, in altogether strange ways. Like everything ya knew 'n thought was like marbles in a tin can with one small openin', 'n, when ya started thinkin', it was like shakin' the can 'n rattlin' the marbles about, 'n one eventually, randomly'd pop out. Like whatever ya thought didn't count worth beans, jus' whatever popped out. Fer example: The anatomy thatcha learned from takin' mice, gophers, chickens, 'n rabbits apart 'n readin' 'n observin' about humans, outta pure interest, was automatically reintroduced in an entirely different context 'n used t defeat Hatcher. Again, all those curious minds you'd been innocently readin' about 'n invitin' in, more as interestin', passin' acquaintances, now showed up at yer doorstep, silently grinnin' with a strange new look in their eyes, givin' ya powerfully real council in how t deal with this Floyd character. When Gandhi's peaceful methods failed, up popped other council members t voice their dynamic, but not so peaceful, solutions. Well, no matter! Gandhi could no longer plead his case, as Floyd had entirely rejected his services, laughin' him outta the
council chambers, books knocked from his hands, popped buttons, torn pockets, 'n spit upon. Now he must deal with Napoleon 'n his value of seconds in battle; Hitler's Blitzkrieg; Atilla the Hun's 'n Ghengis Khan's quick 'n decisive elimination. Whether Floyd realized it 'r not, he was about t meet some "no nonsense fellas". His next petty poke in the chest at school was met with a calm grin, an unblinkin' stare, and an unstutterin', "NO MORE!" The next day, his very forceful poke was greeted by a smile 'n a calm, "Please come here," motionin' him round a corner. In that instant when he stepped round that corner, both his eyes was left t soon swell shut 'n slowly turn black 'n purple, his nose exploded in blood, his lips bled profusely under big, hard, white knots of puffs, 'n he caved in doubled over, painfully gaspin' fer air, clutchin' his solar plexus. Lyin' crumbled on the blacktop, dazed with disbelief, all that dense Floyd could probably think about was that somethin' had gone terribly wrong. The idea that what he'd been a-doin' hadn't been very nice would probably never sink in, 'r somethin' t that effect had been mumbled by Gandhi as he'd given a, "He's all yers, boys!" look 'n silent bow t Adolph, Alexander, Atilla, 'n Ghengis as they'd briefly paused as he passed from the council chamber arena. It all happened so fast that his herd of dummies hadn't had a chance t rally behind their leader, who in the same instant had been up 'n then down. They all came forward t assist their fallen leader 'n jump this kid; but, upon lookin'
down 'n seein' his almost unrecognizable face, puffin' up like a bloated toad on the asphalt 'n blood tricklin' outta a splattered nose 'n knotty, torn mouth, 'n bein met by a calm, smilin' stare walkin' towards 'em, their look quickly changed t, "Hey, man, who's that guy lyin' there? Nobody we know. Hey, man, back off. We's jus' checkin'." The commotion brought a gob of kids 'n some big P.E. coaches. The coaches'd come jus' in time t see one kid starin' down a gang of Pachucos that'd been responsible fer jumpin's, rip-offs, 'n vandalism all over school, 'n their leader lyin' still 'n oozin'. Without askin' any questions as t what'd happened, they grabbed the lone Boys Home kid, one on each arm, 'n started jerkin' him around. They wouldn't dare accuse 'r touch any Pachuco, in a gang 'r not. Scared stiff of these creeps, they was. As they was a-jerkin' ya by the arms, their pleadin' eyes was desperately searchin' fer approval from this pile of scum who controlled everybody, 'cept a few kids. Their pleadin' look of, "Are we doing our jobs right?" came in loud 'n clear with the gang's nods of approval. The coaches hadda show somebody, 'n, bein' as it was always open season on us Boys Home kids who wasn't nobody, they could do their showin' on us lower castes. Floyd, who was finally comin' to, was helped up in a staggerin' daze by some of his buddies. Seein' the kid bein' held by the big, but flabby coaches who'd held Boys Home kids before, not mindin' at all if the other half of the brawl put in some extra free
punches, he lunged forward punchin' wildly. Had he not been so numbed 'n unaware of his present condition, he'da got the heck outta there but fast, which he tried t do when the kid ducked his punches n' broke free of the coaches grips. Both coaches got plastered in the face by Floyd's fists, bein' more concerned about settin' the kid up than duckin'. Before Floyd had really come t grips with what he'd got hisself inta in the first place, he got a repeat dose of what he'd jus' received, with his face bendin' 'n distortin' under the impact. The other gang members got the heck outta there fast. No, sir, they wasn't that dumb. The coaches tried t put the blame on you, sayin' you'd attacked them. It never went off 'cause everybody knew they did the kid holdin' stuff often, 'n they couldn't come up with anyway of makin' it sound believable. They was right down there in the bottom of the barrel with the rest of this gang scum, slimin' round in the crud. The ball was rollin' 'n the whole chain of events had begun. The cost of defendin' yer principles was gettin' costlier; 'n each defeat of one enemy only threw out the challenge t yet another who thought he was a bigger 'n badder foe. It had slowly escalated up t their all out assault of throwin' in their big guns (Hatcher). Small, quiet bookworms are more of a joke 'n don't put no fear in nobody, until it's too late; 'n 'less ya was there 'n saw it, ya wouldn'ta believed it fer nothin' -- "No way, man!"
A new development opened up. Nobody messed with no Pachucos -- kids, teachers, coaches, 'r administrators. They'd take care of their own, defendin' the family honor 'n all; 'n Floyd did have that, at least a piece of it -- more festerin', maggoty sewerage than anything; but that was enough fer 'em t come t the rescue of one of their own. Gag! Floyd was entirely ruined 'n wouldn't be able t show his face at school fer weeks 'r months. Good riddance! Anyway, the word got t Bruner 'cause the often late Boys Home bus hadda pick up the high school kids first 'n wait another twenty minutes fer the junior high school t load. Durin' this short time Bruner got the word, third, fourth, 'r fifth-handed, as few kids'd really seen what'd actually happened 'r how bad Floyd was messed up. If Bruner had got the word from Floyd 'n seen his face first hand, he wouldn't never have pestered an already lit 'n very short fuse, still loaded with the private council of the dealers in destruction. Generally it was faster, 'n more relaxin' on yer mind, t run straight home through the vacant areas by the drainage ditches, about six miles, instead of waitin' fer the bus 'n takin' the slow trafficky twelve miles -- like runnin' the hypotenuse of a right triangle; but the usually late bus was a-waitin' 'n so was Bruner. In no time at all he was happy as a lark in his innocence, sittin' in back of ya, thumpin' yer ears with his fingers, 'n whackin' yer head with his notebook 'n threatenin',
"Think yer big, huh, punk, messin' with Floyd?! He didn't do nothin' to ya like yer gonna get from me." He kept this thumpin' 'n threatenin' up, as the bus jolted through traffic, until the Blitzkrieg boys caught him with his pants down 'n his big mouth wide open cursin' cheap insults. His first shock was t find hisself literally eatin' his filthy insults, along with half his face that twisted like rubber 'n disappeared inta his gapin' wide, offense spewin', fecal cavity, 'n t discover his body flyin' offa the seat 'n inta the aisle by another terrible jarrin' force that distorted the other side of his face 'n turned everything cold, black, 'n sparkly. Like rats, desertin' a sinkin' ship, the other kids scrambled outta the way, rememberin' what'd happened t Hatcher 'n those before him. Bruner was larger 'n denser than Floyd (bigger 'n dumber) 'n without a lick of sense t tell him there wasn't no way he was gonna come back 'n show the rest of the kids how tough he still was by tryin' t tackle the quiet kid; 'n the other kids, who hated his guts, especially the littler ones he continually insulted, intimidated, robbed, 'n beat up, knew this. A phenomenon occurred. When Bruner came to in the aisle -- lumpy-lipped, bleedin', 'n welted face -- the other kids, smilin' 'n knowin' he didn't stand a chance of survivin', did their darnedest t convince him t get back inta the fight so he could be utterly demolished, once 'n fer all. They saw their chance, 'n they wasn't gonna let it get
by, as they hollered t him: "Hey, man, a tough stud like you ain't gonna let some little kid get away with this, are ya?"; "It was jus' a lucky punch."; "Everybody'll think yer a wimp."; "Hey, Bruner's chicken!", all the while smilin' 'n winkin', hopin' he'd take the bait. Even the bus driver, a real nice college student, who'd had his fill of Bruner's insults, didnt try t stop it, only sayin, Try to keep it down until we get home. The kids had managed t get gullible Bruner hyped up enough t take a swing, which was blocked 'n countered by a fist that sent his nose in reverse. This time when he came to, he found hisself in a vice like head lock that systematically permitted his face t turn purple 'n white, off 'n on, fer the rest of the half hour bus ride home. The kids immediately formed a circle, 'n Bruner was turned loose from his neck grip, stiff n sore; but no amount of persuasion could get him t take another swing. After a while the bus driver summed it up, "Well fellas, it looks like that's the end of that"; but, as we all turned around t leave, yerself included, Bruner jumped in from behind 'n started cloutin' ya in the back of the head 'n kickin' ya. He tried t run away as fast as he could as soon as his back attack was finished but was stopped when he stumbled inta a bunch of other kids. He stood there cowerin' 'n repeatin', "Hey, man, didn't mean nothin', didn't mean nothin'," 'n backin' further away, "Hey, man, cool, cool, it's cool." Nothin' happened until we all turned around t leave again, 'n he did his clout in the back of the head trick again 'n kicked ya. He backed away again with his
hands out sayin', "Hey, man, I ain't gonna fight ya," repeatin' it as he continued edgin' backwards with his wide eyes 'n head jerkin' quickly around the hostile audience of kids that surrounded him 'n finally tryin' t laugh it off as a little misunderstandin', with a mock plea 'n arms outstretched even further 'n hands open wide, "Heeeeeey! Heeeeeey! It's coool man, it's coooooll" We all turned t leave again, 'n he musta figured the whole world was as dumb as he thought it was. This time his swing was met by another, 'n an instant after both fists passed in flight, one a fraction of a second faster'n the other, Bruner jolted backwards with a thuddin' crunch 'n slumped t the ground. Later that evenin', in the mess hall, he snuck up behind t kick ya in the huevos. The one punch he got, between the eyes, was enough t convince him not t try that no more. That wasn't the end of it though. Remember, both Bruner n Floyd not only acted n looked like Pachucos but also were part Pachucos. They was really gonna stir things up now. A few days later, while waitin' in a crowded line at lunch time t pick up a basketball t shoot a few baskets with a friend, the first bunch jumped ya from behind, kickin' 'n sluggin'. They hadn't anticipated the gringo turnin' around 'n attackin' them. That's not how it's supposed t go. Within a couple minutes they wanted nothin' more t do with the "loco" gringo, especially after he'd gone straight fer their biggest guy, grabbed him by the throat, drug him over t the wall, 'n splattered his face inta the
concrete, leavin' him rollin' around on the blacktop, shriekin' 'n holdin' his bloody face. Instantly, another group attacked, led by a huge blubbery, sumo wrestler-type Pachuco. Nobody in their right mind woulda never, 'r had ever, attacked this hulk, so he was shocked with confusion when a fist ripped apart his blubbery lips 'n another sunk inta his fat, jelly-like face breakin' his nose with a crack, changin' his look of smug arrogance inta one of disbelief 'n horror as he stumbled backwards, tryin' desperately t escape along with his buddies. The leader, of their next group that was supposed t jump ya from the right, didn't notice his comrades desertin' him from behind 'n was left alone t defend Floyd's 'n Bruner's virtue 'n honor. As it turned out, the guy was built like a larger version of Hatcher; 'n as tough as he was, comin' in a-swingin' 'n kickin' 'n takin' yer punches, his spirit was quickly broken, not only by a series of jarrin' blows that tore things 'n raised white knotty welts, but also by nobody respondin' t his cries fer help. He wound up in a headlock, with yer arms around his neck at yer waist, bein' slung 'n beat up against a wall, when someone yelled out, "Hey, he's pullin' a shiv." The Pachucos had seen what'd happened t their buddies that pulled shivs on the gringo -he went wild, like a savage. What a predicament! Ya got him at yer gut, 'n he's ready t stick a blade in ya. An instant reaction sent a knee repeatedly inta his face as ya shoved his face forcibly downward t meet it. This was the first time kickin' anybody, let alone kneein' him in the face. He wasn't gonna be doin' much graspin' around in his pocket
with his hands tryin' t protect his face. He started screamin' that he wasn't gonna pull his blade. With that he was heaved against a wall t crumble 'n crawl away. His face was a mess. There wasn't no more takers, so we all split before any authorities showed up. Well, here it was, the next day, 'n what was about t go down in a few minutes at lunch was so unreal, it was silly. It was hard enough t imagine Helen of Troy's face launchin' a thousand ships t start the Trojan War, let alone Floyd's 'n Bruner's mugs startin' all this. Unbelievable wasn't the word fer it when two kids from the Boys Home informed ya there was the biggest gang of Pachucos they'd ever seen lookin' fer ya, not only bein' brought in from the high school but lots of adults too. If it was like they was sayin', then there was gonna be fur a-flyin'. Well, didn't matter none, this was yer problem t work out as best ya could, though it mighta been some consolation t have Lester at yer backside. Lester was as close t crazy as ya could get 'n still not be permanently locked up. His one reason fer livin' was t viciously attack anybody fer any reason. If he was walkin' with a kid someplace, he'd always want the kid t push him inta some other unsuspectin' kid passin' by so he could start a fight with him. Everybody else tried t stay away from Lester 'cause of his unpredictable viciousness, but livin' in the same dorm with him a few times showed he wasn't quite as bad as everybody gave him credit. Course, it may be jus' the way ya look at things that don't appear t be there at
first, in order t strike up an understandin' with this explosive creature 'n frequent visitor 'n citizen from the nether world t garner a wealth of, otherwise unattainable, information. With our "understanding", he now had an open link of communication with this world, 'n you had, likewise, an open link of communication with his. An odd bond, t be sure, more struck between two insanities: as he saw yers, 'n you saw his -but, realities both. Communicatin' by nothin' in common: only a cloudy perception, through each others eyes, of two different worlds, each across the line 'n over the edge of the other. Recently, when yer reasonin' 'n sanity came t the end of their line -- the last straw, so t speak -- fer somethin' the big counselor had done t one of yer close, smaller friends, 'n you was about t do an insane thing, like rip him apart, you was merely enterin' Lester's world of reality, of which he was very well versed. Quick t see 'n size things up, he convinced ya not t act; not by any reasonin' you'da figured 'r woulda ever entered yer mind. Yes, sir, he knew all about the big counselor. Crazies 'n sickos -- he toyed with 'em! Yer small friend 'n his brother had come from Tahiti, 'n somethin' had happened t their father, 'n the mother got sick; so, here they were. Though they didn't speak English very well, bein' French, they were both very courteous 'n polite t everybody. The kid was a whiz when it came t mechanical things 'n makin' stuff he needed: bikes,
toys, 'r whatever. He was small 'n thin, but pretty wirey, 'n often tagged along with ya on yer hundred mile bike jaunts, bein' more'n welcome. Anyway, his dorm counselor, a college student who was nice t the kids, hadda be gone fer a while one evenin' 'n asked ours t drop by 'n see if there was anything their housemother needed before the kids turned in. There never was any problems with that bunch of smaller kids that an occasional word 'r two couldn't work out, so the college student 'n the matron had never seen any need fer strappin's. Well, our big counselor hadn't hardly been down there ten minutes, hollerin' 'n screamin' orders, before he'd already brought out his wooden slats 'n laid inta some of the small kidslittle children. He sent a couple of the small kids t deliver a message t our housemother that he'd be down there awhile, 'n these kids told us what'd happened. What made it sick was that this small Tahitian kid, who couldn't understand much English, had tried t be polite 'n do what the big counselor wanted but was havin' difficulty understandin' what it was 'r doin' it fast enough. The kid was made t lean up against the wall 'n strapped with slats until the blood was runnin' down his legs, not havin' the foggiest idea what for. All the while the big counselor was callin' him a, "Damn foreigner," 'n, "You live in this country so you better learn to talk like one of us." Lester, in his craziness, understood crazies 'n cooled ya down enough t see,
amongst other things, that the kid'd only get it worse if ya plastered the big counselor; no good'd come of it fer anybody. This whole thing made ya feel terrible. The first time ya got t meet 'n get acquainted with a Frog, who's really as creative as you'd thought he'd be, 'n this hadda happen t him. Knowin the small kid, ya couldn't no way picture him, as courteous 'n respectful of others as he was (bein' greater'n all of 'em anyday -- least t yer way of thinkin), treatin visitors t his country this way 'r thinkin' we's all like this ________________. (Fill in the word of yer choice. Frenchmen, feel free t contribute also.) Wouldnt take much of this offensive alienation fer the rest of the world t start askin' Americans t stay home. (Think! Would you invite someone like this big counselor inta yer home, around yer kids? Case rested!) As inta things 'n as curious as they was, chances are they'da done the mice experiment 'n seen we all wasn't that one percent. Sure hope so, anyway. It's a cold feelin', fer sure, thinkin 'bout loosin all those potential friends with what they had in their minds, 'fore ya even had a chance t meet 'em, 'cause of this __________________________. (Please be more creative, with this added space, t express worldwide sentiment 'n outrage.) A great loss, fer sure! Maybe when ya got over there, you could tell 'em Ben Franklin sent ya worth a shot. A new feelin came inta bein that night, beyond loathin, possibly hate. Well, Lester wasnt here, at school today anyway, n sides, it was yer problem.
Another kid came by n said the Pachucos was pourin in through a fence break in the back of the P.E. building where the school was doin some construction n that youd better split fast. The thought of runnn from a problem never entered yer mind as a solution, but maybe stickin' around wasn't one either. Generally, runnin' ain't escapin'. Seconds took on a whole new meanin'. It wasn't merely the speed 'n surprise of a well thought out plan that had created a Napoleon, Washington, 'r other great generals -- on hearin' this, the hundreds of council members now attentively perked up 'n sat suspensefully on the edge of their seats curiously starin' atcha with that twinklin' look of anticipatin' appreciation in their eyes, fer the long last 'n awaited bestowment of recognition 'n honor rightfully due 'em, albeit late (posthumously), but graciously willin' t accept it, notwithstandin'; 'n loud, spontaneous outbursts from around the council chambers: "Ah hah!!" ringin' from Wellington, sittin' next t Napoleon; "Zounds!" echoin' from a Medieval knight by some Spartan generals; "He sees where our true greatness lies!" reverberatin' from a Macedonian chieftain in a group of American 'n Spanish revolutionary generals; "The lad has promise," bellowin' from a French Resistance leader standin' next t Washington; "Cheers! Cheers!" clangin' outta a group of Celtic, Gallic, 'n Danish chiefs; "Come, come, lad, spit it out," urgin's from Patton in the company of Geronimo 'n some African leaders; "Don't be shy," softly from a gatherin' of Chinese 'n Scottish warriors; "You have come this far," tollin' from
a Mayan chief surrounded by Phoenician 'n Hun tacticians -- but (continuin' right along above the clamor) in their ability t do it in those scant few seconds when it appeared their whole world was crumblin' down upon 'em, 'n rise t out think, out maneuver, 'n defeat their enemy, between a breath 'r blink, 'n see 'em fallin' defeated while the assured thought of undeniable victory was still fresh in their minds. The council was beside themselves. Standin' ovations! Roarin' applause! Unanimous accord! Fer once they all agreed: It is between the twinkle, veiled in a breath 'n concealed in the second, that empires are gained 'n lost, armadas fail, legions routed, dreams crumbled, 'n ambitions go up in smoke. Instantly, pictures of cornered rats 'n wild cats, in cracks 'n holes, with almost impossible t get through fangs n slashin claws; the devastatin sword of a lone Spartan warrior holdin a horde at bay from a cleft in a wall; a last Nordic chief defendin his village atop a mound of fallen enemy from a breach in the fortification; a Neanderthal mother protectin' her young from wolves with a club at her cave entrance; 'n other images of one against many rushed through yer mind with a blast 'n fury that put seconds t shame. In a wink, the time worn scenario, complete with script, was before ya; 'n all that now remained was t boldly step inta the scene 'n play yer part in this bizarre role, breathin' life, once again, inta an ancient drama enacted countless times, on as many stages, since first animal passions n ambitions conflicted. (Hey!
Wouldnt the shrinks have fun with this, r this whole yarn, fer that matter?). Quickly duckin around the corner, some necessary props was obtained through the metal shops open window: two long 'n heavy, couple pound solderin' irons, complete with square metal hand guards. Again rushin', with the urgency that only lunacy could provide t meet such a rendezvous, t the small high bar area with its narrow three foot wide entrance, the stage was set: all players were now present 'n the curtain was about t go up once again t amuse the gods with our little struggles. With two walls of concrete t yer back 'n side, 'n the other two walls of tall chain fence, this thirty foot square enclosure was moren could be hoped for, even if youda planned it a week in advance. It took em totally by surprise t see the gringo standin his ground against what turned out t be around forty Pachucos. Insanity? Maybe! Maybe not! But doubt 'n uneasiness in their minds, fer sure! The kids'd been right about most of the gang bein' big brothers from the high school 'n older, uncles 'r fathers. It appeared they'd come t take matters inta their own hands with clubs, pipes, shivs, 'n plenty of filthy Spanish cussin'. Some of the adults started laughin' when they saw how small this "gringo terror" was that they'd heard so much about 'n had done all this damage t their kids 'n brothers; but they still wanted t get their whacks in anyway. Their problem was that only two 'r three of 'em at a time could rush the gringo
at once, 'n some of 'em had seen him in action without weapons; 'n that quiet grinnin' stare didn't do 'em any good either. They knew he was in fer the duration 'cause he'd never backed down 'r quit yet -- always attackin'. The situation was made even worse fer 'em, as the gringo was made a foot taller standin' on the elevated sand enclosure, 'n, if anybody tried comin' over the fence, they'd be instantly realizin' their dumb mistake, no matter what else happened. Lookin' the front loudmouths in the eyes, one at a time, 'n motionin' 'em forward with a smile, a head nod, 'n a slow "come on" movement with a solderin' iron, set the stage t put 'em off guard 'n force their hand, one way 'r the other. With the whole lot of 'em screamin' grunts 'n forcibly pushin' the front ones very uncomfortably 'n dangerously close t the "loco" gringo, who were tryin' desperately t jerk back their faces from the cocked solderin' irons, a kinda confusion, mingled with the stench of fear, set in when these front ones realized they couldn't retreat backwards -- not an inch. Trapped with no place t go! They now started nervously screamin' t the pushin' mob in back more'n they'uz insultin', with reckless, pompous conceit, the gringo in front. The threat was now as much in back as in front. Two enemies! One of 'em, themselves! The Pachucos didn't never wanna do nothin' they hadda, 'n with the uncontrollable mob in back a-forcin' 'em inta the waitin' solderin' irons, they didn't wanna even worse. Havin' t do ain't quite as glorious as wantin' t do -- ask any kid.
A quick step forwards, after listenin' t their cussin' 'n hollerin' fer a very long minute, sent 'em stumblin' backwards tryin' t escape, with fear in their eyes 'n no place t go-- a-whackin' 'n a-stickin' each other with their pipes 'n shivs, in these jam packed 'n crowded conditions, with their wavin' of 'em, stumblin' backwards, breakin' ranks, n their, every man fer hisself, frenzy. A regular Marx Brothers skit. Their rhetorical prowess was also in its splendor: Hey, man, back up! Hey, man, watch it! Hey, man, lemme outta here! Hey, man, quit pushin back there!; n sprinkled (saturated) in amongst all this rhetorical genius, 'n not t be outdone by it, were the many expressions of their deep 'n rich cultural heritage (cussin' each other somethin' fierce, they was). The idea that they was gonna be sacrificed by their mob buddies t the loco gringo, who was bent on takin' out as many as he could, not givin' a damn, didn't set too well with 'em none. Who wanted t attack a rabid dog? The tables was now turned with the introduction of a new tool -- FEAR. Somethin' you'd routed 'n sent packin' years ago as unnecessary baggage. An odd quirk of this makeshift strategy now popped up, entirely unthought of 'n unexpected, but very welcome. Breathin' in the deep breath of discovery 'n sudden enlightenment, 'n grinnin' so much it started turnin' inta laughter, a hilarious situation was now revealed, entirely unseen by the Pachucos. They had put themselves inta an absolutely no-win situation. Not only had the
odds been reduced t a very manageable two 'r three at a time, with you havin' the advantage of a foot of elevation' 'n them havin' t come through a narrow space t be met with superior weaponry (two eighteen inch maces made fer close battle), but also there was this new mob situation where the front ones were tryin' desperately t escape, fulla fear, 'n with the fight gone outta em. As long as the mob kept pushin' up sacrifices, that didn't wanna be sacrificed, two 'r three at a time, inta the waitin' solderin' irons of the gringo, t do all the fightin' themselves, alone, fear would set in, 'n they'd try t run but couldn't, creatin' more fear. That's exactly how it worked out in those long, few moments; with no swingin' bein' necessary. Their own fear 'n lack of good council defeated 'em. They had the wrong friends. Someone hollered, "Cops!", 'n with sirens blastin' 'n blue suits all over the place, everybody split. Even though the next week went real quiet at school, with none of the Pachucos pesterin' 'r even comin' near ya, the pressure from the parents on the administration caused 'em t transfer ya t another school. On the last day at school, the big Hatcher-like Pachuco had hurriedly glanced up as he'd passed ya in the hallway, with down-turned head, in that instant revealin' a bandaged, black 'n purple, puffy face that woulda given any mother the willies. It's a shame these mothers didn't see all the stealin', vandalism, 'n gang beatin's their darlin's committed on other kids. Well, not t worry; with the gringo gone, this noble culture
would no longer be threatened, 'n they could continue t pass on their rich heritage with its wealth of traditions.
CHAPTER 16
The new school involved hitchhikin' eight miles each way, as the Boys Home bus didn't go there. Besides two incidents, this school is hardly worth the mentionin'. The first day of school was interestin' as the vice principal, waitin' at the door, grabbed ya by the collar 'n jerked ya inta his office. He sure got t the point fast, bout if there was any problems, holdin' up a long paddle filled with holes. Bein' too embarrassed t stutter, all ya could do was nod. Regular o1' welcome wagon it was. Ya tried not t let things like that bother ya no more. The first incident wasn't too long in comin'. Durin' lunch there was a nice quiet spot on the bleachers t read. Well, it was quiet, anyway, until a local hood with his gang of flunkies discovered a new sport: peltin' the new kid with small stones while hidin' around a corner, gigglin'. A week of ignorin' 'em 'n movin' didn't do much good, 'sides, by now they'uz tossin' good-sized
rocks. They'd also gotten bolder 'n crept out from behind their walls 'n fences, so's they could get a closer 'n clearer shot at the bookworm wimp. What happened next went by Gandhi so fast that he didn't have a chance right off t plead their case, at least not right then. So, after a week of his patience, they'd chosen t pass him by 'n get right down t business with the war council -- who by now were gettin' used t standin' at the ready. Walkin' over t the leader t ask him t please letcha read in peace only resulted in him knockin' yer book t the ground, laughin' at yer stutterin', 'n takin' a poke atcha. This appeared t be how he impressed himself 'n others. He'd only pounce on some kid he knew wouldn't fight back. Needless t say, the shock of this wimpy kid duckin' his punch took him completely by surprise -- as did the fist that split his lip 'n sent him sprawlin' backwards. He made one rally that put him back on the ground, lumpy, bleedin', 'n much wiser, before he wanted nothin' more t do with this quiet kid. A very perplexin' situation now occurred. The gang, now leaderless, attached themselves t their "new" stutterin' leader, like they couldn't get shook of their old one fast enough. This came as a strange 'n almost cute surprise that took a heap of stutterin' t convince 'em that all of us had better things t be doin' than followin' 'n leadin'. They seemed t understand whatcha was tryin' t say, decidin' t give it a try, junkin' the gang idea. The next incident was a
month comin, and, maybe even then, none too soon. The guy wasnt only a plague, but an odd one at that. There wasnt nothin addin up about him thatcha could put yer finger on exactly. Yet, there was a gnawin at yer insides about this guy bein' curiously familiar. At any rate, besides always bein' expensively dressed, he was huge, abnormally huge, but only around the chest 'n ego. Though he was tall, none of his tallness parts matched that enormous chest. The way he acted didn't fit in either -- with him a-usin' his big body as a club 'r havin' his couple buddies push him inta other kids so much that the other school kids'd jus' naturally detour around him when they'd see him comin'. When he'd knock a kid down, he'd try t act cool, but not knowin' how. It'd come out like a kid that'd jus' got a new toy 'r game 'n couldn't get enough of it -- at everybody else's expense. His viciousness, when he'd start kickin' the kid he'd knocked down, showed shades of the rich board member's kid whose leg you'd stopped with that small bat before it'd kicked yer little friend in the face around seven years back. Course, seven years can change a kid's looks some, especially at that age; 'n he can grow up tall 'n even get held back in school (that much?), but he can't no way possibly grow out in the chest as huge as this kid was. Still, there was that distinctive, telltale trademark of the foot in the face when he had a kid down. He wasn't mentally retarded 'cause the retarded kids you'd seen wasn't that vicious. A puzzle!
Whatever ace he held was enough t give him license t beat, kick, 'r intimidate whoever he wanted. There wasn't nobody what made any effort t stop him: students, teachers, 'r administrators; 'n they all knew exactly what he was a-doin'. Like the Pachucos runnin' roughshod over everybody. Guess they'll do it if you'll let 'em. Whatever it was, he couldn'ta been more'n fifty t sixty pounds heavier, even with that huge chest, 'n six inches taller; 'n that sure wasn't enough t make him no god, leastwise through the eyes of a new student not knowin what it was that everybody knowed n feared. Hed already bumped n indignantly shoved ya outta the way three r four times like ya was some slow, dummy learner who didnt realize ya was walkin on his sidewalks. The other kidsd walk around him. The futile plea yesterday, when hed bumped ya particularly hard with what always appeared t be a bunch of hard books under his coat, t please leave ya alone, only resulted in getting laughed at n pushed away. Enough is enough. Sixty pounds r no sixty pounds! Mystery r no mystery! No more! He went outta his way today, not only t bump ya but t do it hardern hed ever done it before. There wasnt any way of avoidin it either, as his buddiesd sorta herded ya inta his path. Confrontin him, if hed understood the please yesterday, brought the whiney reply youda expected from a childish, spoiled brat, Well, soooo what? n if
heda put in a, "Nana nana naa naa," it'd fit in perfectly. His, "Who do you think you are anyway?", accompanied by a swing, that was blocked, got him a face fulla fist that sent him reelin' backwards t stumble 'n fall flat on the blacktop. By the time he'd regained his senses enough t half prop hisself up 'n stare in amazement at what'd happened, through a broken nose 'n two teeth that were protrudin' through the top of his lip, a big crowd had gathered around. Even the crowd was familiar. Maybe yer mind was goin' out 'n you was livin' a dream. When the crowd had seen what'd happened t the spoiled brat, his nose all bent over, teeth stickin' through his lip, 'n blood runnin' down his expensive new shirt, they all started cheerin' wildly t beat him till there wasn't nothin' left of him 'n then t keep on beatin'. They really hated this guy. That still wasn't no excuse t do what they wanted, even though they was somehow mad atcha fer not doin' it. He kept hollerin' fer his buddies t jump ya; but seein' their fallen leader 'n the wild crowd filled with hate towards him, they was long gone. Bein' the size he was, 'n the size you was, musta given him some false hopes of makin' short work of this polite, wimpy, new kid. When he finally got his bulk up 'n came chargin' in, it was a pathetic sight. Whoever he was, ya could tell he had no experience 'r know-how in defendin' hisself against any adversary that fought back. Sure, he could knock a kid down 'n kick him 'n
use some mysterious force 'r power t keep the kid from fightin' back; but meetin' somebody who didn't know nothin' about 'r fall under this mysterious force spell of his, he was ill-prepared t deal with 'r face the consequences of his actions. Even as he was chargin', ya could tell he didn't have no stomach fer havin' t chew what he'd already bit off. So, in order t stop him from gettin' his swollen 'n bloody face messed up any more'n it already was, once in the plexus would do it fine. Duckin' his wild swing, t deliver one shot t his stomach, gave both of us a surprise: he went flyin' backwards clutchin' his stomach, tryin' desperately t double up but couldn't, leavin' yer hand a-feelin' like it'd hit a brick wall. With you a-holdin' yer hand 'n grittin' yer teeth, 'n him a-rollin' around stiff on the ground, bug-eyed, gaspin', 'n wheezin', there was more t this than met the eye. The crowd went wild with shouts, cheers, 'n applause watchin' him gag on the ground. Boy, did they hate this guy! There was even a couple teachers watchin' from way back that didn't do nothin' t stop it. The one punch had stopped him cold. The kids hung around long enough t be sure not t miss any of his gaggin n gaspin before they departed, leavin him alone t struggle up n stagger off, again pathetic. There was somethin sick goin on round here. Questions! Questions! Questions! If the kids hated him so much, why hadn't they done nothin' before? Why had anybody permitted it t go this far, fer him t become so despised? Maybe if he'da
had the wind taken outta his sails long ago, this wouldn'ta happened? Then it hit ya. Maybe it had happened? Could he have changed that much? Nah, it couldn't possibly be. It's gotta be some kinda coincidence in look-alikes. Another with similar physical 'n social characteristics? What'r the chances? Still, there was that foot! Course, the only way of knowin', t be sure fer sure, was t see if there was a long scar on his right shin. Some kids in the next class told ya about all the trouble ya was in for. The kid, as it turned out, was indeed a rich, spoiled, rotten brat, whose father was not only on the school board but was also on the city council as a rich, powerful businessman who always got his way 'r heads'd roll. There'd been a few other kids what'd taken a crack at him when they couldn't stand it no more, but nothin' like you'd done; 'sides, his buddies always jumped in 'n the poor kid didn't stand a chance. Even then the rich kid's father'd have the offender tossed outta school fer good. A couple of the kids had fightin' records so nobody figured there was any loss, but some was real honest, hard workin' students that'd jus' had enough. Didn't make no difference 'cause, by the time the father's lawyers'd finished with 'em, there wasn't nothin' good what could be said about 'em at all. Especially when they'd said the rich kid's friends hadda come t the aid of him 'n pull the "vicious" attacker off. They'd finish with: "What are our schools coming to when decent, upright, honest students are innocently attacked by hoodlums and thugs, right on our campuses?" The offenders always got tossed outta school. Who ever heard
of bringin' in lawyers t settle a scrape between kids? The kids in class said he was bad enough before he got his plaster body cast t correct a slight, almost unnoticeable slouch 'r curve in his back; but, when he got that put on, he became a real snot. They said it was like a small tot puttin' on a football uniform with all the shoulder pads 'n lookin' at hisself in the mirror 'n really believin' he was now as big as what he saw in the mirror. Many a kid had got whacked with that hard cast 'n didn't dare do a thing. Gee, 'n all that time ya thought he was a huge, barrelchested brute what kept books under his coat. What happened next was peculiar in itself. The vice principal called ya inta his office, outta yer next class, t punish ya fer fightin'; but it didn't turn out like you'da figured it woulda. He said the rich kid hadda be taken t the hospital t get a new cast put on 'n that the doctors had found it hard t believe when the kid'd told 'em that a fist was responsible fer the good sized, caved in like hole in the front of his cast -- right over the solar plexus. The parents had been furious. He said there was no real harm done, 'n besides the broken nose all that was necessary was a few stitches in his upper lip, grinnin' t hisself. Since you'd arrived at his school, he'd been a-watchin' ya real close. "For a quiet kid, who likes to read more than anyone I have ever seen and goes so far out of his way to avoid any problems, you sure wind up in the thick of things, packing one helluva
punch. Christ! Unbelievable!" grinnin' again. "It is a shame that most of the students we have here have to take the rock throwing and being pushed around by kids like this, though they shouldn't. I think you have a great desire to learn, but have been thrown into a situation entirely out of your control. I want you to know that, if it were up to me, something could be worked out; but, as you probably already know, the parents are quite influential. I can only wish you luck. Oh, your past administrator said the same thing, and youre welcome to return when things cool down. He had t give ya a couple swats fer the record, but they didnt hurt, mostly because they werent meant to. An unexpected n pleasant partin. Besides respectin' him fer seein' things like they really was, ya hadda feel sorry, not only fer him, but the kid's disgustin' parents as well 'cause they was all, in one way 'r the other, bein' held hostage t do the biddin's 'n obey the slightest whims of a sick, spoiled, rotten brat. The next day at school turned out t be yer last. The rich kid was there, but he was alone 'n wasn't bumpin' anybody around with his new cast. That afternoon after school the head social worker said ya wouldn't have t go t school the next few weeks before summer vacation started. Never did find out if it was the same kid with the scar, 'r kin.
CHAPTER 17
If ya could make it through the school year till summer, ya was home free 'n could then get on with yer education by devotin' more time t readin', inventin', cattle, chickens, studyin' animals, visitin' places like the desert, mountains, 'n ocean on yer bike, learnin' new skills from off-campus jobs, 'n tryin' t record this nonsense. The Boys Home had a summer camp way up in the mountains, past the desert, where the kids got t spend a few weeks each summer. This summer it was gonna be better 'n worse all at the same time. The superintendent sent out a notice that he needed some kids t volunteer t put in some new fences, repair the buildings, 'n get the camp ready before the other kids came up. Outta the whole Boys Home there was only three of us that volunteered, but that was all right 'cause the two French Tahitian brothers was both good workers 'n great company t boot. We rode our bikes through the desert 'n high mountains t get
there. Sure, the work was hard, diggin' fence post holes in hard packed, dry, rocky dirt over a steep bank, but after work each day ya had the freedom of all those hills t yerself, t explore 'n investigate. The camp also put on local animal shows fer all the other summer camps in the area. This meant the creatures hadda be caught 'n cared fer. Gettin' t the camp early meant thatcha could get in on more of this catchin' business. The animals included mice, kangaroo rats, lizards (gila, zebra, bluebelly, alligator), horned toads, snakes (rattlesnakes, sidewinders, kings, gopher, rubber boas, racers), tarantula spiders, scorpions, 'n any other creature that happened t pop up. Sittin' on the front bumper of the old pickup, bein' driven by one of the college kids, whizzin' through the desert sagebrush in the dark of night, chasin' some creature in the headlamps was somethin' ya sure wouldn't wanna miss fer nothin'. Yes, sir, made all that sweat 'n fence post holes seem well worthwhile. The better part of this summer was that ya got a lot more of this freedom 'n animal catchin' n the worse part was a new counselor they'd hired at the Boys Home 'n now showed up at the camp before the other kids arrived. The guy was so queer that the kids called him a queers queer. The First day hed showed up at the Boys Home a month ago, hed managed t get his hands on half the kids in the small kids dorm where he was workin. Hah! The only work he ever did was t force kids inta lettin him play
with their private parts. The kids didnt get no rest at all, day r night, from his advances. He was about as oily n slick as they came explainin any complaints by the kids t the higher authorities. Near as ya could figure, he was a friend of the
superintendent, cause the superintendent sure liked the guy n spoke highly of him, like he could do no harm n that none of these accusations could possibly be real. Fueled by how easy it was t fool the fools higher up, he went wild with his touchy touchies. Up till now he had only smaller kids t contend with. Now, as he showed up in camp a week before any other kids showed up, there was only three kids n they wasnt real small. . The Tahitian brothers said they was familiar with these kinda queers where
they came from, but that everybody knew who they was 'n what they was up t so they couldn't get away with it very easy. They couldn't understand not only why the authorities didn't do nothin' about it, but also that they wouldn't believe that it could even possibly exist. After three 'r four days with no success at all with us three kids, the queer was getting desperate, bolder, 'n more forceful. He didn't like the idea at all that we wasn't easy pickin's like the smaller kids he'd been used to. The brothers always stayed together when they was workin' 'n wouldn't let him separate 'em when he tried to, givin' orders, runnin' errands, private counsellin' sessions, 'r whatever. It got t where they'd
run like the dickens when they saw him comin'. We even moved inta the college kid's cabin so we could get some sleep at night. He even tried touchin' ya under the table, when he'd get a chance, durin' meals. When one of the brothers ran away from him inta the hills one day, the queer chased him fer a couple hours. The brother, who knew the area pretty good, 'cause we'd done some explorin' in the hills together, finally lost the guy 'n doubled back. The queer wound up gettin' lost 'n didn't show up at the camp until late that night scraped, bruised, clothes torn, frustrated, n pissed. The next day he made lunges t grab ya n said, if ya didnt cooperate, hed make up things t tell the superintendent about how ya was a problem kid n didnt cooperate fer anything 'n were caught stealin', lyin', 'n insultin' the counselor. This guy was desperate. The next time that afternoon when he tried t grab ya again, he tore yer shirt sleeve 'n put long claw marks on yer arms. Well, in the process of tryin' t push him away, he got pushed in the side of the face. It didn't leave no mark, but, when the superintendent arrived that evenin', the guy was true t his word. There wasn't nothin' ya wasn't accused of: stealin', lyin', insultin', 'n attackin' the counselor fer no reason at all. The brothers tried t explain what was happenin' 'n even went t get the cook t put in a good word 'n his two cents worth, but the superintendent would hear none of it. He said the man was above reproach, 'n we didn't know how fortunate we was t have him workin' with us. Can't be much fair involved if ya don't
get yer facts straight, but who'd listen? Why waste yer time? The superintendent really came down hard on yer case, sayin' you'd be immediately tossed outta the Boys Home 'n lose all yer animals if ya didn't apologize right this very minute t this fine counselor. This whole thing was unreal. What kinda grip did this guy have on authorities? The kids saw right through his deceptions, but the authorities gobbled up whatever he'd say as gospel. Gullible! Yuck! Anyway, one of the brothers was nudgin' ya from behind t apologize; the guy wasn't worth losin' everything for. Little did ya know at the time how that decision was t haunt ya in years t come, 'cause with the apology came a cop-out, a sellin' of yer principles, admittin' not only defeat but that all the lies he'd stirred up was true. The apology wasn't worth it, especially all the problems it was gonna cause livin' with yerself. Things was gettin' in the way of principles! After that, the queer'd always smirk everytime he'd pass ya. The first batch of little kids arrived there that afternoon. Later that night after dark, while returnin' from deliverin' some more blankets t one of the last open cabins, who do ya think was behind one of the cabins with an eight year old boy, both of 'em with their pants pulled down? Ya got it, kid! But who cared? Who gave a damn? Didn't make no difference anyway 'cause all ya was left with was yer cop-out 'n a bad feelin' inside fer sellin' out yer principles. Reflectin', most of the problems of the Boys Home woulda been eliminated if
the superintendent woulda jus' had five minutes. Everything was lost -- truth, all those good folks' intentions, excellent facilities, future of all those kids --in meetin's. In yer three years, he never once went inta a dorm 'r asked a kid, "How's it going?" A good man, but he literally never had those five minutes. Meetin's! Meetin's! Meetin's!
CHAPTER 18
It all started after camp with half the summer still left. The queer counselor 'n the big counselor from yer dorm, who the kids had figured out had tendencies that way too, started gettin' together a lot. He'd been findin' more dust, specks 'n things that merited swats, especially since you'd hadda stop some of his buddies from pesterin' ya - in the only way they could understand. Now, after camp, it got ridiculous. It was back t scrubbin' the ancient, rusty, stained latrines twice a day now, with swats each time fer not bein' able t remove stains that'd long ago eaten through the enamel. With the swats now came restrictions. Right off, ya was restricted from goin' t the barn t feed 'n care fer yer animals: steers; experimental breedin' chickens, geese, 'n ducks; lab mice 'n rats; 'n goin' down t feed the five thousand chickens thatcha was responsible fer in yer partnership with the superintendent's wife. The first "stain" offence gotcha a week's restriction from yer animals 'n each stain thatcha was unable t remove after that gotcha another week. Then, fer everytime he'd found out, 'r figured out, you'd snuck down t
feed yer animals, you'd get another week. He 'r some of his buddies'd go down t the barn 'n see if any of yer animals was alive 'n had food 'n water, 'n if they did, whack, whack, whack, 'n more weeks of restrictions. Like the Lieutenant lookin' fer turds, all over again. His response t the animals'd die without food 'n water was, "Tough, ya shoulda thought about that." Well, whatever it was thatcha was supposed t have thought about sure escaped ya. It didn't stop there. Along with the restrictions on the animals came restrictions on goin' t the bike shop; leavin' campus fer any reason: outside jobs (the calls was pilin' up), bike trips, any school outings (still hadda go t church, more'n ever now, with the preacher righteously cooperatin' with attendance takin'); Boys Home money was frozen; no more gopher trappin'; 'n inventions was confiscated 'n destroyed. (The large model of a crashproof plane, with the tail up front, was the first t go -- six months you'd spent on that one, not t mention all the electrical gadgets.) Between tryin' t keep the animals alive 'n latrine stains, you'd accumulated close t seventy weeks of restrictions in only three weeks. The counselor, along with the scaggly, o1', religious, dingbat housemother had not only taken away all yer freedoms, but yer avenues of escape also. Remember the original two week "breakin' period"? Well, it was still goin' on after three years. Guess they was gettin' pretty desperate.
The negative effects of this curtailment of all yer activities was spreadin'. The superintendent's wife was now complainin' about ya shirkin' yer duties 'n responsibilities by not feedin' the chickens promptly twice a day as usual. Mentionin' about the restrictions only got her on yer case too fer not behavin' 'n gettin' in all this trouble, especially after what happened at camp. She wasn't interested in thatcha couldn't figure out what it was that was gettin' ya inta trouble 'r that everything ya did naturally only made matters worse. The head social worker was comin' down on ya too fer not goin' out on any of the outside jobs 'r comin' in t clean
up the office. Tryin' t explain what was goin' on wouldn'ta done no good anyway. Ya might say things wasn't goin' too peachy. With yer whole existence now reduced t scrubbin' rusty latrines 'n gettin' swats, n goin t church, things was lookin' pretty bleak. One way 'r another, ya always figured them o1' latrines'd be yer ruination 'n rise up t haunt ya. The end had been a long time a-comin', 'n now it looked like it'd finally arrived. The final countdown came one day when all the kids 'n adults at the Boys Home (except yerself 'n Lester) went t the end of the summer picnic. Everybody was supposed t be permitted t go, but the big counselor overrode the superintendent's orders 'n had us two stay behind anyway while him 'n everybody else left. The place was sure quiet. It didn't bother us none that we wasn't permitted t go t the picnic. That
got the big counselor real mad 'cause we'd taken the gloat 'n fun outta his punishment. We'd been talkin' 'n walkin' around fer an hour 'r so when Lester suggested we go get a ball 'n bat 'n hit some flies. The dorm had some hall lockers where stuff like this was kept. Well, the counselor had taken all the sports equipment 'n put it in his room before he'd left so we couldn't use it 'cause it'd been in the locker before he'd left. With that idea shot down, Lester kept lookin' in some of the other lockers t see if there was anything in 'em. He was down at the other end of the hallway when he shouted, "Hey, look what I dug up," holdin' up a deflated bicycle inner tube. With that he tossed it t ya. The tube opened up like a hoop 'n sailed through the air before ya caught it 'n tossed it back t him. With everything else goin' against ya, it seemed only right that time 'n chance should give ya a kick while ya was down, an ironic justice of sorts. As the small bicycle inner tube was sailin' through the air, who do ya think wandered out inta the hallway, from her room way back in the dorm, at the exact second that the thin inner tube came down t completely encircle her like a hoop over a peg? Ya got it right! The haggely o1' dingbat wasn't even supposed t be here. The superintendent had said that "all the personnel" was supposed t go t the picnic t mingle with 'n have a good day with the kids. Well, as usual, she didn't give no truck t what the superintendent said, 'n she wasn't gonna have nothin' t do with any of these newfangled ideas about minglin' with the kids 'n gettin' t know 'em -- jus' wasn't proper. 'Sides, she knew that everybody hated her, so she'd sought refuge 'n moled herself up as usual in the security of her tiny, musty, violet smellin' room. The whole thing looked pretty funny 'n Lester started
laughin', which didn't set too well at all, t say the least, with the ancient, stale smellin' biddy. There really wasn't no harm done, 'r so we thought, until she started squallerin' indignancies 'n godly cursin' vows of vengeance. Up till now she'd never really had anything t punish ya fer, (never stopped`her though), 'r hold over yer head; 'n she'd sure looked hard 'n stretched the tiniest whim of her sick imagination tryin' desperately t wish it inta reality; but now she finally had something real, after all her lookin', wishin', 'n hopin'. Now there'd be no more need fer lyin' 'n stretchin'. Her melodramatic screechin' about how she'd been brutally assaulted 'n attacked was real confusin', as you'd not been within' thirty 'r forty feet of her until you'd come up t apologize 'n let her know it was only an accident. But she'd hear none of it 'n kept screechin' about how we'd attacked, "God's anointed," 'n "God will get you!" 'n "As God is my witness," over 'n over again. After sayin' we was sorry some more, we left 'n went down the outside stairs t get outta her way. Lester wandered off, which left ya plinkin' around in the dirt outside the dorm with a tiny, two inch, toy slingshot -- shootin' at a tin can with dried beans. Within ten t fifteen minutes she came stumblin' 'n hobblin' outta the dorm 'n started down the long flight of stairs. She paused when she saw ya off a good ways, plinkin' at the can; wagglin' her finger atcha, she cackled, "Don't you act so innocent young man, and don't you think for one minute about aiming that thing at me after what you've done to me already." She was well over thirty yards away, 'n ya could hardly hear her broken cacklin'. Is paranoia the right word t use here? Hollerin' back t her that the toy couldn't even shoot a bean that far. With a demonstratin', "Here w-w-w-w-atch,''
the bean barely made the bottom of the metal stairs. "S-S-S-ee?" With that she cut loose, "Oh, God will surely get you now!", 'n hobbled off t make sure God really got ya by goin' t the main office that'd be closed t report ya t the superintendent that wouldn't be there. She was so senile she didn't remember that there wasn't nobody here today 'n that she was supposed t be on a picnic herself. Course, she was always on her own picnic in her mind anyway, which was probably as musty as that room she was always holed up in. There wasn't no foolin' yerself but that the seams was gonna come apart when this picnic was over. Might as well go take one last visit t the barn. More'n depression was settin' in lookin' at all the animals, charts, 'n graphs. This time a kinda washin' yer hands of the whole mess was creepin' upon ya, as ya turned all the mice, rats, 'n snakes loose. Scurryin' about smellin' each other confirmed their suspicions of what they'd already suspected about their upstairs 'n downstairs neighbors -- what up till now they'd only been able t deduce by scents, squeaks, squeals from fights, 'n patters from playin' kids t irritatin' night visits t the john. Watchin' 'em exchange gossip before they set out upon their new adventure, packin' only what few animal traits of survival that hadn't been robbed 'em by selective breedin', gave ya pause fer reflection. Thinkin' about all the careful 'n meticulous research that'd gone on seemed so far away 'n unfamiliar now. Like it never really belonged t anything real, existin' only in another alien world far away 'n long ago, that'd been of no importance t anybody but yerself, 'n now ya even questioned that.
Doesn't anybody else have this terrible, uncontrollable, burning thing inside to create, discover, build, learn? Who are these strange people in this hostile land whose shore you've been washed upon? What possible value could anything have if its very existence was entirely subject t the idle whims of crazies -- a wavin' away by the hand of a sicko? What you'd hadda pay fer 'em, at camp, wasn't worth it. Right now ya wanted nothin' more t do with anything. Whatever ya did was used as a tool against ya. Maybe that's why none of the kids got involved with anything? Ten minutes after leavin' the "off limits" barn 'n goin' t the "off limits" bike shop, the big counselor showed up swingin' 'n kickin'. He got ya on the concrete floor 'n commenced kickin' ya repeatedly in the face 'n ribs. There wasn't no doubt in yer mind at all but what ya coulda taken this guy apart, who couldn't make it around the track without comin' t a gaspin' halt. In his pomposity, he thought he was indestructible 'cause he was so big 'n never been challenged, when, in reality, he had no experience whatsoever in defense, mind 'r body. Beatin' smaller kids doesn't mean ya can take it yerself. Yes, sir, he was green alright -- sicko green. But takin' him apart would only make things worse, confirmin' the authorities suspicions. Best t take his kickin' 'n let him get it outta his system. He tired himself out after a couple minutes of kickin' 'n beatin' ya 'n left pantin', leavin more stains on the old cementbloodhis trademark all over! With the dismal thought of never bein' able t go anyplace 'r do anything again -- 'cept scrubbin' latrines, goin' t church, 'n gettin' swats -- bearin' heavy on yer
mind, this place didn't look that good anymore. Some of the other kids said that, when they got real depressed about things, they'd go out 'n get drunk, 'n fer awhile they could ferget, 'r like quiet, non-violent Arthur, with all avenues cut off from him t build his beloved electrical gadgets 'n circuitry, he turned t the only thing left t him they wouldn't take away -- LOCKS! With so many of 'em around, 'n the best, you can be sure, he got good -- real good! When depression hit him, he'd break inta a warehouse with the most 'n hardest locks he could find jus' t sit in the dark, alone, where nobody could get at him. Never did commit no crime, except escapin'. Fer what it's worth, in fer placement. Parents lushes. He's gone, now, though. Shipped off someplace else, with lots of locks most likely, you can be sure. Anyway it wasn't no problem at all ridin' down t the liquor store 'n rippin' off a fifth of whiskey with all the practice ya had. A fella can use his skills any o1' way he wants. Anyway the stuff tasted awful 'n didn't seem t do much, even after half the bottle 'n an hour later. Ya got a little lightheaded, but yer problems was still there, real as ever. Occasionally the head social worker'd send kids t visit a psychologist 'r somethin', so he could ask ya questions 'n show ya pictures. Last week had been yer first visit 'n today was supposed t be yer second. Somethin' like that you'd ferget about pretty easy, but she didn't, as she came lookin' fer ya in her car. After a yuckie faced, "Good lord, child, you sure are a mess!", there was a quick examination of the long whelty cuts under yer eye, on yer neck, 'n the clotted blood crustin' t yer hair. She was more concerned about cleanin' ya up than what'd happened,
so there was no reason tellin'. The psychologist noticed but didn't mention 'em either, but squeamishly went right t the questions about whatcha liked 'n the pictures about whatcha thought. So oblivious was he, in his lifeless, mechanical, dronin' spiel, thatcha coulda been a cucumber sittin' there, 'n he wouldn'ta noticed a bit. In his own forced way, he was patient enough, listenin' t yer stutters about whatcha liked, but got uneasy about yer answers on the inkblots 'n photographs; especially one photo that looked like a bunch of women in a locker room undressin', t maybe put on basketball uniforms t play a game. He kept on askin', three 'r four times at least, if ya couldn't possibly see somethin' else in the picture. Answerin' him that that's what it looked like all right; course, he could possibly see somethin' else, but that was entirely up t him. Neither he 'r the social worker mentioned anything about yer whiskey smellin' breath. Anyway, it was uncomfortable in there, with him bein' a queer 'n all, like the sick counselor, but who cared? Not the authorities who sent all the kids there. The "end feelin'" was all over ya, which brought with it the usual lookin' back. The world had still been goin' on durin' yer years at the Boys Home; nothin' stopped. Players appeared, blurted a few lines, 'n faded away: Matisse had died; People was gettin' tired of McCarthy accusin' folks of bein' communists; India was testin' a solar cooker; Albert Schweitzer had got the Nobel Peace Prize; H-bomb test in the Marshall Islands; widespread concern over radioactive wastes; first concern over smokin' 'n lung disease; U.S. Supreme Court ruled racial segregation unconstitutional; 'n the first atomic submarine was launched. In this light, yer chicken breedin', mice experiments,
inventions, dumb ideas, 'n that goat all seemed pretty insignificant compared t Hbombs 'n atomic submarines. Course, Schweitzer 'n Matisse mighta figured it the other way round. What it all boiled down t was that all ya had left was thatcha didn't have nothin' if ya didn't have yer principles, no matter how much "things" ya had. There jus' wasn't no goodies worth that kinda price, sellin' everything ya really had so ya could have nothin', emptiness. The next day someone came 'n carted #17 away t "Juvie"; only this time they put him with the bigger 'n badder kids. They'uz givin' him clues.
CHAPTER 19
This next section is so depressing that years later (now), when ya had t go through all this garbled mess of scribblin's, it would take ya weeks t months jus' t psyche yerself up t work a few hours on all the faded notes 'n manuscripts. Depression would follow fer days afterwards. So please have patience. It'll get put down; some of it anyway. The fear is that, at the cost of wantin' t get shook of 'n be done with this time zone, much will be excluded. Maybe a little is enough! Only in inventin', creatin', and countless hours in jungles, swamps, oceans 'n with the o1' guitar, could yer mind escape n find peace durin' this time. Bare concrete cubicles inside bare concrete cubicles inside bare concrete cubicles connected by bare concrete passageways penetrated through by bare, clangin', 'n clickin' steel barriers does not stir the imagination t soar with the winds where even the slightest breeze can't penetrate 'r be felt.
Resignation! Passive resignation! Yep! That about sums it up pretty well all right. Indifference t everything. Indifference t continual linin' up 'n inspections everytime ya went through a door, electric 'r not: outside yer rooms; before leavin' yer company t go t mess hall; in front of mess hall; in mess hall; outside mess hall; in front of company; inside company; indifference t all this three times a day. Sound familiar -Hup, one, two, three! Indifference t constant strip 'n frisk searches fer anything, but especially fer forks that could be used fer climbin' over the last five feet of fine meshed fencin'. Indifference t nothin' t do but sit. Indifference t sicko kids that craved violence 'n got ya locked up fer long periods of time in solitary. (Company X. Hard core violent kids, murderers, etc., lived there continually.) Indifference t the same baggy, khaki pants 'n dingy, stretched Tee shirts (all dressed up like Pachucos). Indifference t lights on all night with guards peekin' through the tiny reinforced glass window every fifteen minutes 'r so 'n bangin' on yer door if ya was layin' on yer side (The lack of sleep shortened the already short fuses of the, already prone t violence , frusterated n confused, inmates). Indifference t skimpy, tasteless food; indifferent t the skinny Pachucos who'd give their milk away sayin', "Machos don't drink no milk, man, no way!!". Indifferent t the rank disinfectant smell of everything: clothes, urinals, food -- everything. Even indifferent after a while t talk of the outs: How long it'd be; Yer P.O.'s workin' on it; girls, gangs, buddies, drugs, "everything". Guess indifference
was a kinda survival skill. Ya learned it 'r ya cracked, 'n there was those, too. Nope, ya waited the necessary months fer yer court case 'n that was that. Jus' put yer time in. No wishin'. No hopin'. No nothin' could change that date. Kids on ice -- cold storage! Especially rememberin' who made up the legal system 'n how it worked, greased real good with all those records from housemothers, housefathers, counselors, teachers, 'n principals. Godly folks all! Highly spoken of! Passed all the tests! Highest standards! Approved by all! Saints, even! How fortunate, lucky we was t have such as these t give of themselves t work with us, knowin' the kinda kids we was. So, ya see, in the light of all this, puttin' things in their proper perspective, why resignation 'n indifference was the only shot ya had t get outta this mess with any of yer marbles. Hey! Besides, you'd learned a new skill. Ya still come out ahead of the game. Anyway, in a nutshell, throw yerself on the mercy of the courts 'n hope they ain't all queers! Now, don't get me wrong. Passive resignation 'n indifference are all right in themselves, but, after a while, they may tend t lose some of their original zest 'n excitement. Excludin', of course, fer those most devout revelers 'n debauchers in boredom, drinkin' 'n savorin' its intoxicatin' elixir t the fullest -- "Drain the cup dry mates! It'll not be soon that we'll see such plenty." But, alas! There's no pleasin' some. Fer those there was always available the necessary trappin's of civilization that made life so well worth the livin' 'n that they
couldn't live without, not even in here, fer there was always those willin' t help. Bless 'em so. Lord do love 'em what sees the need 'n freely gives from the bottom of the heart. Only, around here, it was usually more around the crotch area. Drugs of all sorts was fairly readily available. The Pachucos mothers would smuggle 'em in stuffed up their vaginas 'n rectums. Anything fer their little, misunderstood darlin's who'd as soon ripoff 'r mug their own mothers if they figured they had the price of a fix 'r had it stashed 'n was holdin' out on 'em. Most of 'em had already. Why do ya think some of 'em was in here? Course, muggin' yer own mother don't count fer much around here, status wise, though the courts do frown on it some. But you'd probably get prosecuted faster by the S.P.C.A. if ya kicked a dog. Well, anyway, the mothers, contrite 'n somehow feelin' they'uz responsible fer their kids bein' here, humble 'n penitent, accepted their new role as couriers 'n suppliers of their kids' habits, so's they could have a little somethin' in this horrible place. What it all amounted t was sorta like pimpin' out yer own mother. Which some of the mothers hadda wind up acceptin' as a way of life if they was gonna be able t afford the stuff fer their kids. The cost of drugs bein' what it was. One Pachuco in particular used t brag about it, "Man, she gets a kick outta it. She does it with every John in the neighborhood. She keeps the whole building happy." Kinda adds a new dimension t motherhood. Yes, sir! These kids could sure use guilt. Real
scummos. Smokes could be made by rollin' marijuana 'n other leaves up in the small pages of the New Testament bibles that the visitin' priests provided. There'uz kids that'd tried every type of leaf available in Juvie: bushes, grass, shrubbery, trees -- everything. Real botanists they was. Needles could also be supplied through dear o1' Mom, along with matches that'd be shaved 'n split t go farther. Course, there was them that even this wasn't enough, 'n they jus' hadda get out. Seems there's no pleasin' some, no matter whatcha do fer 'em. What's this generation comin' t ya wonder? Escapin' plans was many. Some'd even make it, though it took some doin'. It was hard enough stealin' forks, let alone keepin' 'em, through all them friskin's. But, if ya had a couple forks, a good plan, down pat timin', n a strong enough motivation (a girl, any girl'd do; a gang; buddies; vengeance; easier drugs; goin' crazy 'r even findin' some minor flaw with the present hotel's management 'r recreational facilities), chances was it'd be worth a shot. Course, then again, ya hadda understand, stood t reason, potential runners, which jus' about included most everybody (management oughta look inta that), wasn't about t be let t work with the friendly cooks in the kitchen, around all them forks, 'r deliver messages from R (receivin') company. Like the man said, "There's jus' no pleasin' some"; 'n if all the above options fer a better life fell short of hittin' the mark, 'r they'uz taken away from 'em (Solitary),
then they'd deny the taker the last take away by doin' the takin' themselves. The ultimate escape from it all --suicide! This "ultimate escape" route was well-traveled, judgin' from all the wrist scars. Kid gets alone with hisself, 'n there ain't nothin' there t keep him company, savin' maybe only his fears 'n all those other "interesting roomies and bedfellows", 'n can't get shook of 'r deal with 'em, then all that remains is fer these creatures t work their magic. A fella ain't got nothin', 'ceptin' these "primeval thugs" 'n "louts" a workin' him over, chewin' 'n gnawin' on his innards, then he ain't got nothin' t lose; maybe even a little somethin' t gain, way he/she sees it. Works as well on either sex -- Whap, Whap, Whap. With the kinda things the kids was in here for -- assault 'n battery, drugs, arson, burglaries, G.T.A. (Grand Theft Auto), gang violence, 'n such -- you'da thought the guards woulda been holy terrors, especially the way the kids was a-foulmouthin', cursin', hasslin', 'n insultin' 'em 'n everybody else. Didn't appear that way though, 'cause, 'even after six months, you'd never seen 'r heard of a guard bein' nothin' but straight 'n pretty decent, tough if necessary, not respondin' t the kids foulmouthin'; even when they hadda break up fights 'n take ya t solitary. They saw it as a coolin' off time. The sticks they carried was more fer their protection. You'd get the word, every now 'n then, that another guard went down -- lucky if he came outta it alive. Ya get kids
in here that are inta violence (assault 'n battery 'n gangs), they ain't gonna miss any chance they get t get a few thrills; 'n these wasn't even the bad kids, 'cause they kept all the violent crazies in X permanently. Nope, these was jus' mother's little innocent darlin's, that everybody so mistreated 'n nobody "really" understood, bein' forced inta acts of violence by the big, bad mans with sticks. If ya buy that line, ya now know who the fool was yer mother raised. Nope! Got t know a lotta guards, as the kids was constantly bein' moved from company t company t keep things broke up, n' the only nasty guards was in the kids' minds: a terror, all made up 'n kept alive fer want of nothin' else t do, 'r t make it sound more excitin' from the outside, 'cause there sure wasn't nothin' goin' on in here t write home about, wherever that was. Juvie was a kinda rotatin', holdin' tank till they was processed onta higher, more secure holdin' tanks as the years went by -- still the same kids though! Fer the most part, these were all return visits fer the kids. A touch at home base! Meetin' o1' friends! Discussin' how many times they'd been busted; the o1' barrio (some nameless lot 'r dump); rumbles; drugs; good/bad homes, institutions, work camps; makin' it with chics -- everything from ten year old jail bait t forcin' teachers -- "Man! Anytime I want it, she gives!"; laughin' at how they'd suckered cops, judges, 'n P.O.s; cussin' the injustice of it all, "It ain't right, gettin' busted 'n goin' down, jus' fer muggin' some o1' lady fer change," while, at the same time, braggin' about the couple dozen
jobs they never did get caught at; immortalizing vacant lots, "bad" jails, fuzz, heat, street corners, wheels, jackets, tough broads, gangs, 'n who not t mess with; in general, a time t brag about exploits, derring-do, 'n things they all held in common, high esteem, dear t the heart of any rapist, mugger, extortioner, drug dealer, thief, 'r sicko, spreadin' their fame far 'n wide -- outta ear shot, of course, of any official. This warm time of sharin' was all accomplished on a very limited vocabulary budget of a few, select, but well-established grunts 'n chants. A point not t be overlooked, a moot one fer sure, ya understand, but all the same worth some attention, in that there wasn't no rich folks kids in here, 'r at least not fer very long. This resignation, cold storage, 'n depression stuff didn't apply t the rich. No, sir! Not fer them. They could live without it -- so they did. They hadda be up 'n about doin' things, places t go, 'n couldn't be hampered by whatcha could 'r couldn't do. A good life if ya can live it. Nothin' wrong with havin' a choice t be in 'r out. A breath of air filtered through a million tons of concrete don't quite do the same thing fer ya as a breeze straight offa the surf; keeps yer bones together -- but with no life in 'em. The few who were "accidentally" placed amongst us riff-raff (the arrestin' officer not fully understandin' who they really were, but soon t be fully understandin' who they really were) only stayed a short time. But, in their short stays, we got our fill of stories, replete with indignancies 'n "heads will roll", of their folks havin' t tidy up this nasty
little bit of misunderstanding by musterin' out at ungodly, inconveniencin' hours, fleets of lawyers, judges, officials, 'n any local indian chiefs hangin' about, all hoppin' around like terrified toadies on a hot, sizzlin' skillet. More hell t pay, fer sure, t whoever made that mistake. Rich kidsd brag! Snap their fingers! Soon be out! Moral: smart rich kids freepoor dumb kids locked up. Same crime too! Guess khakies 'n dingy, stretched tee shirts wasn't the cut of their jib. Near as ya could figure, here in Juvie, it was the kids that was the problem 'n not the institution; whereas on the outs it was the institutions that was rife with problems; course the kids wasn't so peachy either. Society (lots of people) had gone outta its way t help these kids, who, as it turned out, didn't want no help from no patsies 'n suckers 'n as a last resort was forced t isolate 'em away from others so they wouldn't damage innocents. Course, these was jus' another batch of objective observations from a kid who was gettin' pretty good at seein' things as they really was - between the lines. Like the mice experiment, only now realizin' YOU was in the cage 'n had maybe always been in one. It's the little things like that that seem t go unnoticed, bein' part of somebody's big experiment! All in all, Juvie was "dead time" fer everybody. "Well, almost everybody!" Heh, heh, heh! Even here a fella might learn a thing 'r two if he kept his eyes 'n ears open 'n his mouth shut 'n plug inta what turned out t be a vast network of forbidden
knowledge: scams; rip-offs 'n payoffs; manipulation 'n extortion techniques; connections t crooked everybody, outside 'n in; inside scoops on who did what, why, when, 'n how it got pulled off so smoothly; sympathetic judges towards certain types of crimes; unsolved 'n even unreported crimes of all sorts, from arson t murder; future, spectacular, t remain unsolved, crimes bein' run off at a bogglin' rate, immensely more sophisticated 'n efficient than even our public school systems could ever hope t achieve fer producin' crimes 'n criminals fer every occasion. This was more than jus' a mere gatherin' of vultures. HERE was brought together the top, young aspirin' experts in every field of NO NO's, t plan, recalculate, 'n scheme until they got it down pat. HERE was a gigantic vat of unstable, genetic soup, full of the best of broken, twisted, sick 'n missin' parts; constantly inbreedin' 'n recombinin' thought patterns 'n ideas t make whole new species of crimes, lofty new breeds of sickos 'n crazies 'n even more spectacular concepts of bent. HERE was brought forth inside spots nobody'd ever seen yet 'r thought could possibly exist, not even in yer most disgustin' 'n horrifyin' nightmares, all makin' reservations 'n stakin' claims on a future generation of patsies, suckers, do-gooders, bleedin' hearts, 'n unsupectin' innocents, t wreak havoc 'n swamp every facet of an outside society that not only created 'em but now chooses t release its own sick creations upon itself! This is too confusin' t even think about. But anyway, HERE ya had it all! Step right up
folks! See the freaks bein' created right before yer very eyes! HERE, young, fertile minds twisted t new, excitin', grotesque distortions, as ya stand watchin'! HERE, all this 'n more 'n all supported by yer local tax dollars! HERE, see a "vast network" of efficiency in promotin' 'n perfectin' crimes, all set up by our elected authorities! HERE, see it t believe it; probably the only thing they've ever done right that worked so smoothly! Makes ya wonder whose side they're on, now, don't it, folks? If you count yerself among the few, the chosen, the select, the elite deviants, don't settle fer Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Smith, Wellsely, 'r Amherst -- "Juvie Finishin' School of Crime" WANTS YOU!! Anyway, there musta been some kinda privilege attendin' here in there someplace. Who woulda suspected that the trapped rats would, 'r could, conspire? As it turned out, this was sorta like a business convention, mixed with a little R 'n R, t rest, study, learn, compare techniques, 'n prepare young, HOT minds, with lotsa HOT miles left in 'em. The only difference bein' it was at public expense -- course, there was all that concrete 'n wire. God! Ya never seen so much concrete 'n wire! This place was built like a prison, 'n it wasn't gonna be no "limited edition" of graduates either. The way the machinery was set up, it'd be grindin' 'n crankin' 'em out fer years t come; least till somebody throwed a wrench in the works, 'n it all come t a crunchin' halt. Not much chance of that though, with so few people possessin' buttons nowadays. So, best
listen up, you folks out there, fer when yer kids get chucked in here, accident r not prepare em.. This is the direction where were headin. Amok! Yep! When ya look at it real good, standin' back, all things considered, there was things here worth knowin', maybe even useful things, unattainable nowhere else things but here. Information was as real a commodity in here as anywhere else, sometimes more valuable. The more ya had, the more valuable ya was. Jus' like on the outs where life had turned ya inta a scavenger of knowledge; bits of anything ya could tuck away -- most of which was cast off as worthless, by some particular interest 'r other, 'r as threatenin', illegal, 'r immoral by another. Collected it all, like before with the bits of wire, bolts, 'n interestin' scraps that could be worked inta somethin' useful some day. Life was jus' a great big junk yard of sorts. No good 'r evil, jus prevailin deceptions only, pickin' up any scraps of knowledge that might have escaped accidently, unintentionally; the secret things of counselors, teachers, craftsmen, superintendents, cooks, thieves, arsonists, rapists, con men, school officials, businessmen, sickos, perverts, molesters, sadists, 'n perhaps even yerself, they were all the same. All were sources of somethin' they didn't want others t know about. All had their secrets, forbidden goodies that they tried t cover up with degrees, smiles, titles, words, 'r the omission of 'em. What is not said is what one must listen to. Knowledge fer survival 'n nothin' more. As in books, somebody in some place in time was talkin', squawkin', 'r snitchin'. And now, here ya was, in a junk yard's
junk yard of bent 'n broken inside things, the attic 'n closet of the Society fer Decent 'n Respectable Folk. Not a whiff of the intensity of this creativity, based only upon the slightest scraps of inference n deduction, was t be found in the public school system; where even the tiniest seeds of thought were squelched with a brutal, dogmatic passion. Yes sir, Juvies got school beat a million fer producin thinkers. Look fer these kids up the road a piece, remindin us of that. Why, there was hundreds of rare, strange, 'n bizarre case histories walkin' round in here, live as could be; jus' awaitin' t be looked inta properly. The real, morbid, grimy reality of these kids, however, not the lines they fed the gullible, bleedin' heart, social workin', sweet things who gobbled up 'n swallowed, hook, line, 'n sinker, their absurd, fabricated tales of injustice upon innocents, like it was gospel from the mouths of babes, would never get recorded. The main reason bein' that, fer the most part, the inmates here who really knew what it was all about, had about as much readin', writin' 'n verbal skills expression as the addled social workers had common sense. Now, that does indeed paint a bleak picture fer ever gettin' a handle on this recordin thing, don't it? And we can pretty well write off any social workin dunderheads, even
in their right halfwit minds, ever comin' in here t live like one of us, even fer only six
months 'r so. Well, the disinfectant smellin' food would get 'em right off. Why, it'd blow their hemorrhoids out, gaspin' 'n chokin' on all their goodnesses 'n mercies, if they got a good whiff of the quality scum they was workin' so hard t pass off as rehabilitated, potentially good citizenry. Blast away all their ivory towered theories! Couldn't take it! Best they stay outside 'n stick t heir notions, rattlin' bones, mumbo-jumbo, horoscopes, 'n tea leaves, where they're safe. Don't need no more casualties; especially if they're all ya got that's good 'n tryin' t help! What this all boils down to, the Big Problem, is who has the ability t operate a pencil inside here? Not t mention stomach the food. Sorta narrows it down t a dead end. But, 'n ya notice the word but, what would happen if there "jus' happened" t be amongst the midst of these tight-lipped, secretive inmates, unbeknownst t all, one who at least had a general idea of what Rousseau, Paine, Marx, 'n the rest of the boys was tryin' t say; 'n had done a bit of, albeit makeshift, observin' 'n recordin' of critters, creepin' things, 'n life in general; 'n possessed a modicum of communicative skills (Think low -- very low on this one), but enough t get by? Well, fer one thing, he might wind up as "tight-lipped 'n secretive" as the rest of the inmates. A fella's a fool not t pick up on any good skills what comes his way, now, isn't he!? Let's see what comes of it anyway. A whole new world of creepin' things presented itself. Sure, they all looked sorta the same on the outside, two legs 'n all, but inside -- more'n a zoo could hold. What they
did 'r didn't do ain't near as interestin' as why they did 'r didn't do it. Course, that ain't how our judicial system sees it. If society thinks the robbery was bad, wait till they get a whiff of what the kid "didn't do" a few years up the road. Potential great crazies, politicians, businessmen in the makin', leaders, legends! Hey, ya say ya wanna come in fer a looksee, a little peekeepoo?! Well! Aw shucks! Don't be bashful! Come on in. Meet the o1' gang from back home, the Barrio. Proud as peaches we are of 'em. Look all around ya. Slick-tongued con artists, so persuasive they could convince the devil he needed t pray. Constantly on the prowl. Their target? The public: the unawares; the real innocents; maybe the helpless, weak, 'r only those who might befriend 'r wanna help. Show a hint 'r crumb of sympathy, 'n ya get set up real fast as a mark, patsy, pigeon. In general, parasites feedin' on the good will of others. Sound familiar? No, not likely t find much real goodwill in here. If ya do find someone friendly, they'll likely be tryin' t relieve ya of what little ya got 'r tryin' t get inta yer pants. Movin' right along. See that guy in the corner over there, stewin'? He's been here about four months this time (his third visit); got him on assault 'n battery charges: on no one in particular, jus' someone passin' by. Likes t dynamite occupied houses 'n cars, then again, no one in particular -- off the record, of course. He's yer man if ya want somethin' 'r someone wasted. Fer a fifteen year old, he's got about as much love in him as Hitler had fer the
Jews, sittin' there with an ax t grind. Chance comes, don'tcha think he's gonna grind it? Why? He's "gonna show 'em!"! Show who 'r what? Right 'r wrong, don't make no difference. Take that other kid. Yeh, that innocent lookin' little tyke. Got him on twenty-two counts of G.T.A. 'n one count of G.T.H. (horse). That's how the records read anyway. But, what the other kids know of him 'n what outside folks are findin' out, ya wouldn't believe. 'Sides countless burglaries, he's slashed most everything: tires, furniture, kids, dogs n cats t bunnies. Put a knife in his hands -- you name it. Parents thought he was their sweet darlin'. Yet do. Still don't believe it. "No, No, No!" Nightmare time, hysterics, shock, wheeze-wheeze-gasp. Got lawyers runnin' around; kid brags about it. "The perfect child" -- Motherhood, ripe fer the pickin's. The kid was COLD!! Here nobody went around him; they knew he'd as soon stick a shiv, razor, 'r somethin' in ya as look atcha --a stabbin', slashin' fool. Now that kid, yeh, over there, got him on petty larceny, his third visit here, a real jewel t have around when friends drop by. His real joy, none suspectin' (officially, that is), is ice-pickin' people in crowded places: football games, etc. Be out soon. What's petty larceny? Here's one that'll jus' melt yer heart. Yeh, that Aryan type -- White, AngloSaxon, Protestant, blond hair, blue eyes, friendly, cute, baby-faced. He's here, officially that is, on arson: a vacant lot 'r somethin'. But this kid's a cut above yer ordinary,
everyday fire bug. To those in the know, he's got the makin's of a top notched TORCH. Talk about class, depth, creativity, 'n verve, the kid ain't got a nerve in his body. From fire bombin' old age homes t saturatin' cats 'n dogs, 'n any other animals he can get his hands on -- with glue 'r gasoline -- 'n ignitin' 'em jus' t watch 'em shriekin' in agony as they burned-- he's got the touch: the genuine gleam in his eye. The kid's a NATURAL, jus' somethin' yer borned with!! 'Sides that, he likes sprinklin' glass slivers in food 'n drinks at parties. What can ya say? Versatility!! Has the kid got it 'r not?? Anyone out there wanna buy his line, his smile; invite his innocence inta yer family circle? Better talk it over first with Rover on this one. This one here likes workin' people over with coke bottles, broken coke bottles. . Think he's in fer breakin' 'n enterin'. Gettin' a bit too maudlin' 'n sentimental fer you, are we now? Touchin' soft spots? Such a swell lot of lads. Jus' out a-funnin'. No real harm done. Course, could stand some watchin'. Not exactly perfect, but, then again, Hey! Who is? Lighten up on 'em a bit. Sure, they got a little carried away maybe, but, all in all, kids' stuff! Ya ask, "Now what are you in here for?" Well now, does it really matter? Yer in here 'n that's enough. Read the records; take yer pick. Ever been in solitary? Dumb question! Dumb question! Strike that one! Sure ya haven't. Interested? Ya are? Well, come on in. Pretty crowded in here with more'n one. See those specks all over the walls. Yeh, that's them, those plaster specks. Well, that's
whatcha got fer entertainment. Lest of course ya bring yer own. Course, after bein' strained through a million tons of concrete, steel, 'n mesh, there's really not much left t really get too excited about. All ya really got left is playin' with things in yer mind, but even there the concrete seems t work its magic 'n wipes the slate clean fer most folks. What kinda games in yer mind, ya ask? Oh, the usual: past occupants -- rapists, murderers, psychopaths, you know, the works. Yeh, right in this room. If ya work at it you can sorta bring 'em back. Can get pretty interestin' at times. Like the o1' dorm, not lonely in here. Then there's goals, principles, philosophies, 'n stickin' t yer guns type of things t ponder. Then there's tryin' t figure out 'n control the chemicals yer brain releases t work fear, pain, excitement, fantasy, sleep, heart beat, 'n whatever. Hey! Watch this. Feel that pulse? Now watch! Pretty interestin', huh! Knocked 'er right down. No! No! That don't do no good. Ya start lookin' fer reasons, faults, self-pity -eats ya right up. Nope, yer dealt yer cards 'n that's whatcha got t work with. Do yer best. No excuses! Ain't no more'n anyone else's got -- a chance. Ya pays yer dollar 'n ya takes yer chances along with the rest. If ya don't mind the sleepin' arrangements 'n the food don't stick in yer craw too much 'n ya keeps yer wits, ya might learn a thing 'r two 'n come out ahead in the end. Course, it really gets crowded in here when the council members start filing in 'n the Guild, 'n then there's all them critters -- not t mention the clutter from all the inventions. Then there's always the specks t rearrange in yer mind. Damned if it don't
get interestin' in here at times. Pick yer company 'n they'll stick with ya, thick 'r thin. Then ya can always bring in yer own personal readin' material, in yer mind. Stuff that'd probably only interest you, but that's OK; ya don't see anybody else in here do ya? Heh...heh...heh! Yes, sir, in the cool 'n the quiet ya can sure get a lot accomplished. Course, if ya only got the creatures t work on ya, well that's a different story; climbin' the walls fer sure. Ya ask, "Why are you in here?" Well, does it really matter? For the most part kids jus' explode, 'r crazies gotta be a-beatin' 'n stabbin' on somebody; 'n if yer handy, well, here ya are. They do it with enough regularity that these walls become pretty familiar. Hey! There's that train again, a-goin' someplace. It's the walls, ya say? They're a-botherin' ya? Too close? And jus' a-thinkin' about all them murderers, rapists, 'n nasties what's been in here. Well, of course they do. How inconsiderate of a host t invite someone inta such a place. Gettin' depressed, ya say? Well, of course ya are. That's what this place is all about; a school of sorts t learn yer lessons. Most kids come apart real fast; hear 'em a-beggin' 'n a-whimperin' t the same guards that only a short while ago they was a-cussin', insultin', 'n rantin' on about what kinda animals their mothers make it with, 'n belchin' 'n screamin' on what they's gonna do to em when they get on the OUTS. That metal door clangs shut 'n the guy's left alone with only the creatures, 'n shortly it's "tune changin' time." Some a-whinin', bawlin', 'n whimperin' all night long. Hard t imagine some tough-talkin', foul-mouthed,
o1' lady bashin', muggin', child stabbin', rapist creep needin' his teddy. The walls a-closin' in on ya, ya say? Feelin' trapped? Alone? No hope? Fergotten? That's them creatures a-workin' on ya. Yep, they call it "X", where they takes ya apart 'n sees what yer made of. Anyway, if yer plannin' a visit t stay awhile, especially you kids out there whose folks are on the sauce, don't ferget t bring yer own muses; the Hotel's services don't provide much of a variety, 'n them they gots are pretty used, worn, bent, 'n rattled -- mostly rejects. What with sleepin' only a few hours a night, a guy keeps his ears open 'n can pick up on a thing 'r two. Sure as hell beats T.V. Sure ya can. Jus' go. Oh! Fergot t tell ya. Ya know them walls 'n them nasties, well, they somehow manage t tag along with ya. Damnedest thing ya ever saw. Jus' can't seem t get shook of 'em. Sorry 'bout that. If these observations 'n ways of lookin' at things don't quite come off exactly as you folks out there sees 'em, well, that's all right too; but ya gotta remember, this here observin's comin' from the sewer system of society. Ain't much light gets down here in the sewer pipes fer us vermins t see things clearly. Months pass, 'n by the time yer P.O. shows up you'd been in 'n out of "X" fer some more stays. Once told 'em, if it's no trouble, jus' t leave ya in. Set 'em back some; what with guys comin' apart right off, 'n here ya gets some kid who says, "If it's no trouble," he'd like t stay. Gave 'em somethin' t talk about, if not think some on. Anyway, off they packed ya t a work ranch way out in the desert. A Scam!
CHAPTER 20
About t enter the commodities market in the excitin' world of scams -- with you bein' the commodity. Now there are numerous variations, but we'll jus' touch on 'em as we move on down the road. Yer whole stay here was pretty short -- a few days -- but lots was learned. It turned out t be more like one of them businessmen's workshops, a weekend seminar of sorts where they cram ya day 'n night with important goodies worth knowin'. The place was way out in the desert, like the Military school was way out. The set-up was a large cattle ranch with a big o1' wooden dorm with more'n a dozen 'r so beds. Very frugal. No frills anywhere. Nothin' personal. Real economical. More like an in 'n out holdin' pen fer cattle 'r a mission's overnight sleepin' quarters fer bums 'n drunks. Sizin' things up as soon as possible was an important skill, lest ya didn't mind
gettin' more'n yer share of the whacks, closets, 'r jerks. So right off, as soon as yer P.O. left, tellin' ya there's a school, maybe 20 miles away, this kid, about yer size, was desperately tryin' t get yer attention while this o1' man was a-tellin' ya, "You don't want to go to school, now, do you?" This kid kept shakin' his head, scared like, 'n tryin' t tell ya somethin', fear in his eyes, silently mouthin' words, standin' behind the o1' man. Then the o1' man said, "Think it over a day or so." Right off, a couple kids took ya t show ya the layout, 'n right off ya got put t work pitchin' bales of hay 'n shovelin' potatoes, almost like it was some kinda emergency. It was in the middle of winter 'n near everything was numbin' cold, 'n the tight bailin' wire on them bales sure cut inta yer fingers. After a couple hours of this they came 'n gotcha fer supper -- some of them same potatoes you'd been shovelin'. Fer a couple days ya worked furiously, shovelin' truckloads of potatoes, pitchin' bales of hay, stretchin' wire, 'n learnin' somethin' about this set-up: all the while him akeepin' atcha, smilin', "Now, you don't want to go to school, do you?" With what you'd been able t observe, pick up, 'n read between the lines, here's what this outfit broke down to. This was a large, in 'n out, fatten 'n sell, cattle ranch with no hired hands; and, as ya can't run somethin' big like this with nobody doin' nothin', the kids provided the labor, older ones drivin' the trucks t pick up the potatoes 'n hay. The potatoes he got through some government surplus program fer five dollars a
truckload. They was all supposed t be destroyed t keep the price of potatoes up; but somehow he managed t keep a steady stream of cheap "cattle 'n kid food" a-comin' in. Some of the kids went t school some of the time; it not bein' encouraged fer all. Now here's somethin' t ponder --philosophically, that is. Now, if somebody, fulla goodness 'n carin', wanted t help 'n have a foster home with a kid 'r two, why the county'd pay round sixty dollars a head, plus medical 'n a little extra fer clothes, up t three 'r four kids, t help him along. Now, if somebody, even more fulla goodness 'n carin', wanted t have maybe five 'r more kids, why the price per head doubled. So, ya see, it'd be worth yer while t be really filled with goodness 'n carin', 'specially if ya got a cattle ranch that needed lots of hands. The convincin' the authorities wouldn't be no problem at all, what with words like: "Healthy farm living"; "Getting kids away from the city"; "Teaching them new skills and values." Authorities'd eat that stuff up. No sir, don't take nothin' t see the advantage of bein' fulla goodness 'n carin', 'specially if the workers pay you fer lettin' 'em have the privilege of workin' fer you, with you not havin' t pay no income tax on this money 'r social security 'r other insurance-type stuff. The way the cattle was a-movin' through here 'n the low -- frugal's the word -maintenance cost, 'n what with the workers a-payin' him, somebody was a-stashin' a bundle someplace outta this "in 'n out" operation; 'n from the looks of things, on how
smoothly this operation was now run, it'd probably been goin' on fer some time. He'd got it down t a real art. The little kid that tried t warn ya at first, about it's best not t wanna go t school, hadn't been around much these last few days, as he went t school: him bein' a real son of the o1' man. He also had an older brother in college. Well, in a nutshell, his real kids went t school, 'n the artificial, foster kids was encouraged not t attend, so as t work 'n send the real kids t college. The bottom line was we was payin fer their education 'n some t boot; like sacrificin' one generation t pay fer another. Quite a catchy idea, huh? Feelin' bad you didn't think of it, too? Well, it don't really appear t be a new idea, what with governments usin' it -- war, economic growth, 'n the such like; it's jus the down home, grass roots, little folk applyin' it 'n cashin' in on a good thing that lends it its quaintness 'n novelty. With lots of kids in Juvie what needed a place t go, the criteria fer those that stayed was how much a kid would go through fer his freedom from Juvie 'n not havin' t go t school. What with kids that wound up in Juvie not likin' school a lick, he was workin' with a stacked deck. The "go through" was how much work he could get outta them. If he could get enough work outta a kid t keep the operation runnin' smoothly with no complainin' outta the kid, then he stayed. It was more like a mathmetical equation fer low cost labor: a cross between outright slavery 'n tenant farmin'. Havin'
worked fer all those bankers, businessmen, investors, 'n havin' listened 'n pondered what they said showed ya this right off; course, readin' a bit helped some, too. Yes, sir. Clear as day. No harm ever came from listenin' t a man's point of view, 'specially if ya figured he knew what he was talkin' about, havin' worked fer him -- his ideas that is. Now this o1' guy was a-runnin' such a tight ship, maybe fer too long, that it appeared it kinda got a holda him 'n turned inta a mania. The only product that was bein' produced here was a buck; like some of the kids said, "There ain't no love lost here on nobody. You work or back you go." The guy's greed had taken him 'bout as far as it could go, 'n he was a-milkin' it till the teats squeaked -- us kids. Workin' out here was a no win game, not t mention no pay, exceptin', of course, all the potatoes ya could eat, while school meant at least the possibility of books. Ya notice the word "possibility," 'cause way out here there wasn't not only any books, but there wasn't even any possibility. Ya see, right there they gotcha. They know yer gonna wanna get at books. How can a kid resist? Jus' like the Great Comic Book Caper. The handwritin' on the wall out here was shovelin' potatoes, pitchin' hay, diggin' fence post holes, stretchin' wire, 'n as much as they could get outta ya fer nothin' more'n a belly full of potatoes -- bleak -definitely not books.
Up till now we've jus' been philosophically ponderin' along, but all this came t an end real fast after yer second day when you'd come in t lie down 'n get some much needed rest after you'd been workin' real hard all day. He'd seen how hard ya was aworkin', 'n his continual questionin' ya about not wantin' t go t school had started turnin' inta persuasive arguments why not t go t school. Well, in he comes while ya was half asleep 'n commences t convince ya school was a waste of time. He'd been able t persuade most kids t junk the idea of school, till at least he could get as much work outta them as he possibly could; but, fer this kid, lookin' at all them potatoes down the road wasn't near as excitin' as lookin' at things the way Stevenson, Twain, Defoe, Melville, Verne, Cooper, London, Hart, 'n the rest saw 'em. With yer final mumblin', half asleep answer that school was the place where ya wanted t go, he let out a cursin', "Why you ungrateful... " 'n immediately exploded all over ya with his fists. This whole thing was a repeat, 'n a fella didn't need t stick around fer no repeats t see how they wound up. So, out the back door of the dorm ya flew, still half asleep, with him in hot pursuit, a-hollerin' when he got t the door fer his wife t get the gun. Well, switches, rulers, belts, 'n planks is bad enough, but guns? Instant new concept here! Whatever a sicko can get away with, he'll go fer it 'n then some. Well, by the time he got the gun, you'd made it up a hill thirty 'r forty yards out back. Now a clod of dirt ain't much, even up close, 'n at that range near a joke; but when he opened that back
door with that gun, it was enough t send him duckin' fer cover back in as it splattered on the door jam 'n gave him somethin' t think about. "Get the police, Ma," he started hollerin'. Well, he wasn't about t tackle no dangerous kid armed with dirt clods way up there on the hill, with him only havin' a rifle -- police matter fer sure. It was easy t intercept the police before they got t the farm, 'n they understood about him doin' things like this 'n said not t worry. They drove up t town, called up yer P.O. He came way out 'n got ya sayin', "I didn't think you'd like that place." Though he didn't wanna talk about it, he knew what went on; 'n if the police knew, then the courts knew. They weren't all dummies. The way it looked was that "everybody" was a-lookin' the other way; what with so many kids 'n no place t put 'em, anyplace was better'n nothin'. Maybe that's how the world survived, everybody a-makin' compromises with the maintenance man, 'r the devil. Wasn't necessary, if somebody was a-doin' somethin' like this 'r whatever, t go way out away from neighbors 'n pryin' eyes; right under the noses of courtrooms fulla authorities was jus' as well. The bottom line wasn't indifference, but it's what we got; how society managed t get by. Parasites all round a-chewin' 'n a-gnawin', a-chunkin' off what they could get. We went straight t another place in the big city. "Think you will like this place a little better," he says. Well, t yer way of thinkin', city 'r country, crooks is crooks; 'n where free labor 'n money was involved, scams wasn't too far
behind. Guess ya jus' hadda wait 'n see what kinda numbers operation they had goin' here.
CHAPTER 21
This turned out t be yer first real stab at functionin' on the "OUTS". The foster home itself was better the more ya stayed away from it. The o1' lady was basically good, but rattled; 'n the o1' man hated kids with a vengeance; 'n there wasn't enough room inside t do anything -- 3 double bunk beds in a ten by twelve room fer us. More of a base fer operations on the outs. Didn't take too long t work out this operation. The whole system was, 'n had been fer some time, yer basic "gettin' the kid through college" scam. (Number of foster kids X $ = College education + medical expenses, car, clothes, 'n the better life all round fer junior.) The o1' lady was really hustlin' bucks offa the county. See? Good ideas stick around. Well, that was none of yer concern; gettin' on as best ya could was a handful. Though the characters changed some in the home, the plot was the same. The o1' man was so fulla hatred, insultin', cussin', 'n bitchin' at everybody all the
time, that nobody ever went anyplace they even thought he might be at. The guy was constantly as frustrated as ya could possibly get n ready t explode instantly at any time. It wasn't only when he wasn't workin' 'r not gettin' paid much 'r the thought that without his wife's schemin' their kid wouldn't be goin' t college well-heeled all round, clothes, car, 'n all; nope, he jus' hated with a vengeance fer the sake of how good hatred felt. Steer clear of this guy -- bad news. Their snobby kid treated us like dirt, not botherin' t recognize our existence. Us kids was jus' a tool fer his own ambitions, a necessary inconvenience in his role as the shining hope of all concerned 'n everybody else's aspirations t whom all energies were devoted (an only child). That included our hopes, aspirations, 'n energies as well. He had now evolved, in theory, headwise anyways, t Master of the plantation, livin' in the big white house on the hill. What with him a-tryin' t impress us all with his college, Ivy League airs, while at the same time sweatin', strugglin', 'n tryin' t understand his books, some of which you'd already dabbled in, he had his hands full. Sure woulda been cute fer one of us little wretches on the plantation t have tried givin' him a hand. "Excuse me, Massa, but even on dis tiny speck in de universe dat we do call Earth, what goes up don't necessarily come down. Ain't necessarily so, Massa. Ain't necessarily so. Not dat you's wrong, Massa. No, fo' sho. Der's escape velocities ob tings like hydrogen atoms 'n more if you's libin' up der some. No, Massa, tings am mos'
likely different elsewhere dan dey are in our little corner. And dat, Massa, not dat you's wrong, Massa, no, Massa, no, Massa, Machevelli wasn't da one dat had dem ideas, Massa; you's tinkin' of Rousseau, Massa. Now don't feel bad dat you don't know all dem tings, Massa. Dey's not important, Massa. Don't cry, Massa, don't cry." Nope, don't think that likelihood's in the cards. Woulda sure surprised him that what he was aflountin' on his throne, often erroneously, was jus' common knowledge, free fer the takin', from any corner library, by anybody with a lick of sense 'n a few spare minutes on their hands. No airs necessary. There'd been, more'n likely, a score 'r more of us through the years, a-sendin' him off, OUR great white hope, with OUR tuition, in OUR car, wearin' OUR clothes, smilin' through OUR dental work, so he could get educated 'n wash his hands of us. Fer sure, there ain't much in it fer the little guy. Even heard him a time 'r two tellin' his mother t get another kid 'cause he was short of cash, needin' the "Ivy look" 'r "Tweeds," 'r somethin'. "You can get another one or two in that room." Not if you wanna open the door 'r breathe ya can't, thinkin' t yerself. So it was all arranged, 'n #17 was moved inta a four by seven porch storage room. Like cattle, back in the commodities business again. Anyway, it never did sink inta junior that he hadda squat 'n use toilet paper like the rest of us. Big concept time here! A quick point in passin', dealin' with the nice, new, heavy-set lady across the
street who'd make German pastries fer us kids. She was havin' trouble makin' the rent 'r mortgage payments, 'n the o1' lady calmly waved it off as no problem. "Get a few kids." And in a short while later she had one. A good lady, liked kids -- both benefitted. A symbiotic relationship of basic survival. You deal with this one -- fine lines here! The kids came 'n went, but three, besides yerself, stuck around fer awhile. We all knew 'bout this kinda life, so we helped each other along as best we could. After a half dozen moves 'r so, ya get the hang of it, manuverin' the sickos 'n keepin' outta the crazies' way. Comparin' notes of where you'd been was standard procedure, not jus' 'cause it was interestin', but, if ya wound up in any of them places, it was good t know the score 'r tell yer P.O, "Let someone else have that place." Information was important stuff. None of us had much more'n ya could stuff inta a shoe box, but we had enough information t keep our hides in tact. There wasn't nothin' more important t any of us than FREEDOM. Them other things -- food, clothin', 'r the rest -- were pretty trivial. Without freedom ya can't own enough 'r have yer stomach full enough t even make it worth yer while. Freedom plus a shoebox, a guy could do a helluva lot worse. There was Doug, the Cheracol drinkin' Indian -- complete with red nose. He'd drink anything, from the cheapest rot-gut t after shave lotion, but if he could get a-hold of Cheracol cough syrup, why that was his favorite. He was easy goin' 'n didn't care t work. Where he got his money no one knew, though he wouldn't rip ya off. All that can
be said about him has been said. More like an epitaph. More'n likely soon serve as one, the way he's goin'. The Spanish kid. The mild mannered, deep thinkin' Pachuco. The kid would rather be readin', thinkin', 'r philosophizin' than gettin' involved with the deep, rich culture that bespoke of the Pachuco heritage. He was really born inta a society where he didn't fit. Let his own words speak fer themselves in one of our many conversations. "What kind of an impact do you suppose it would have on society if an entirely new color were introduced?" he'd calmly ask in our tiny room. Yer reply, "Well, more'n likely our retinas probably wouldn't be able t pick it up, even if it wasn't filtered out, absorbed,'r changed by the time it got t ya, but if we could see it, it'd probably have the effect yer figurin' on -- shock. Maybe even chaos Replyin, It might even be the same as an alien stepping out of a spaceship, wouldnt it? This short excerpt tells ya more about him than ya could figure out. Never talked about gangs, rippin' people off, scams -- rich heritage stuff. Nope, jus' talked about ideas. How he wound up in the circuit was such a tangled mess, that even with his a-tryin' t lay it out, it all got even more tangled. What with so many members in his family, 'n who shot, stabbed, raped, 'r deserted who 'n who got sent where by what court fer how long 'n when, he'd been bidin' his time a-waitin' t be released inta some family member's custody before they got shot, stabbed, raped, 'r sent off someplace fer who knows how long. His latest
scenario of hope involved goin' t live with a sister, who was still a minor, but was plannin' on gettin' married t this guy, underage hisself, so they could have some kinda "typical" family life. Guess they all figured that if she was married, then maybe the courts would release him inta her custody. Think of the paper work the courts is gonna have t go through on that one. He'd outlived all his family's misfortunes already 'n was only a few years away from bein' able t walk out on his own. He'd sorta got swept up 'n carried along in the whole mess but didn't appear t be too worse fer the years 'r let it work on him. Then there was Stan, the new kid, good but hot tempered some. He'd got tossed out too late in life t have grown up in 'n become acclimatized t the system. Though he was near yer age, there was a world apart, experience wise, 'n he was havin' a rough time of it, bein' too thin skinned t not be able t walk away. Some while back he'd seen ya walk away again from the same two guys that'd been hasslin' ya fer a week, stutterin' about not wantin' no trouble. The next day he saw these same two guys approach ya right outside the school 'n start their hasslin'. He'd jus' been a short way off 'n said it happened so fast that he still pictured them standin', as they was a-lyin' so torn up 'n bloody on the pavement as t make him nauseatingly sick fer hours. He stood a few feet away, amazement written all over his big, wide eyes 'n gapin' mouth. He blinked 'n it was all over -- beginnin', middle, end. He'd never seen anything happen so fast 'n kept
mumbly repeatin', "When did it happen?" He, right off the bat, noticed there wasn't no stutterin' in the calm, grinnin', "Sometimes, kid, words don't work." Since then he'd been learnin' the ropes real fast. Ya got him a job 'n showed him how t keep it, 'n before long he was studyin' furiously fer the o1' sheepskin. He understood it wasn't everything, but it's a start. You'll have t understand that school, jobs, 'n the home all happened at once, so you'll be needin' t drag 'em all along as we finish one n go inta the others, as they're dealt with separately here. Now that's a dumb thing t ask a reader t do, now, isn't it? School was lookin' more promisin', with no problems hardly worth mentionin'. A fella could even say that there was things that merited lookin' inta. Learnin' seemed t have import here, 'n it was a lot calmer, though the school itself was huge. There was one school-related incident that happened in the first month 'r so. The way it happened was a little odd. There was this local hood with a good-sized followin' of kids. He was trainin' 'em t be cool toughs. Any new kid at school in his classes would get hassled by one of his aspirin' toughs in his apprenticeship Hood program: trippin', kickin', hittin', insultin', throwin' rocks, 'r takin' away money --all valuable skills t be learned; but the real fightin', if the new kid didn't fully appreciate the welcome, was done by the gang leader hisself. He sure had somethin' goin' fer hisself -- with enough pomp 'n ceremony t make the Royal Guards of Buckingham Palace envious!
Why, what with "special" kids helpin' him put on 'r take off his black leather jacket, hold it fer him, carry his tight, black leather gloves, clean off his seat, do his errands, polish his black leather boots, he sure gave new meanin' t strut 'n gloat. He'd send a flunky t hassle some new kid 'n then another with a message. Ya either knuckled under 'n accepted him as yer leader 'r faced the prospects of him a-comin' down from Olympus t smite ya. Most kids was so filled with awe at this entourage of worshippers 'n the magnitude of ceremony that they quickly fell inta the "Yea, lord" crowd. Well, he could keep this hasslin' up fer ever with all his brown noses, 'n he wouldn't ever get involved 'r face any prospect of gettin' kicked outta school. This last one, "gettin' kicked outta school", was a very sensitive issue with him. Any involvement by his lordship would always be off campus. Interestin' things t think about in that. This was not the way t start 'r continue school perpetual hasslin; so arrangements was made t meet after school in a deserted lot. No tellin' what t expect; anything from them all a-jumpin' ya t a fair fight. One guess was as good as another. There musta been over a hundred flunkies accompanyin' him t the lot. Then ya hadda wait fer the "pomp 'n ceremony" of his inner circle of chosen ones, his holy anointed, t go through the jacket 'n gloves routine. Sorta comical it was. Not knowin' what t expect, him 'r the whole mob a-pourin' on ya. There ya stood, him with his mob 'n you with jus' yerself, sorta. Well, not entirely alone. Remember the Council? When they seen the prospects of this one, they wouldn'ta missed it fer a repeat of Waterloo. At the ready, every man jack one of 'em, they was. Well, t their dismay, but with their approval, it turned out t be a fair fight.
The hood wasn't really that tough, as he'd got his experience pouncin' kids that had jus' got tired of bein' hassled but had lacked the skills t stop it. Now it was his turn t get tired of retreatin' 'n pickin' hisself offa the ground. A few minutes, no more, of punches that picked him up, caved him in, 'n twisted his face in numerous ungodlike expressions, 'n he wanted no more of this nonbeliever. Jus' t make sure it ended there, ya went over t a couple of his biggest followers 'n calmly, matter-of-factly, "You guys wanna give it a try? One at a time 'r together. Makes no difference." There was no takers anywhere. Needless t say, this intricate, highly structured society crumbled. What it amounted t was that you was responsible fer the extinction of a religious movement. Not a bad day's work, wouldn'tcha say? Where do these guys come from? Underneath some rock? Looks like the followers is still here with us a-lookin' fer a leader -- any o1' leader of anything. YUCK!! The school was big, which meant there were lotsa cracks 'n corners that needed investigatin'; 'n with it bein' calm, ya didn't hafta think about meetin' any switch blades 'r Pachucos piled up like fecal wastes in these cracks 'n corners. With the school puttin' ya some places 'n you a wanderin' in the others, that about covered all bases. No matter how ya got there, they was still only cards ya was dealt 'n ya played 'em as ya saw fit. A few things developed as time went by in yer year 'r so here that had lastin' effects 'n gave some credence t school, at least as a meetin' place. One was gymnastics. One day, while lookin' fer someplace else, ya wandered -more by accident -- inta this large gym filled with all kinds of apparatus: rings, parallel
bars, high bars, 'n the like. Well, after feelin' them rings 'n bars 'n stretchin' the muscles in that cool 'n quiet, there was no second guessin' This was whatcha could do instead of P.E.. This beat that linin' up standin' in the sun doin' everybody at once things, by a long shot. There wasn't no more'n a, "Sign me up coach," 'n that was that. Found a home. No, sir! No more of that up down, one, two, three stuff. (Sound familiar?) Well, that was the beginnin' of a great battle fer perfection within yerself. Never did get t that place ya was a-lookin' fer. Next, there was this poor Math/Draftin', 'n whatever else, teacher the school had loaded down till he hardly functioned 'r had time fer anything, let alone students, what with meetin's, committees, counselin' stuff, 'n sports activities he didn't like. The guy was smart 'n the kids liked him, but he was always overloaded 'n tired. Seems like he was gettin' burned out with all that other nonsense. The draftin' drawin's themselves was a lot easier than the stuff ya did everyday with yer own invention things. As a matter of fact, it was downright borin' jus' drawin' somethin' that already existed -- no challenge. It was more fun, almost addictive, t try 'n create 'n draw somethin' that didn't yet exist, t serve a function that wasn't yet bein' served. Again, that don't make much sense either, now, does it? Even thought of throwin' in a few drawin's of yer own, but that wouldn'ta helped him none; only added t his load. Well, as things eventually always turn out, he'll go his way t another school, 'n you'll go yers t another home; but that's not t say thatcha wouldn't be a-bumpin' inta each other again up the road a piece. The next was a kid. The counselor had only one class left open thatcha could take in yer schedule -- Advanced Drama. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! The gods will amuse
themselves with this mortal will they!? The idea of deliverin' Shakespearian dialogues t live audiences was not in the least bit horrifyin' 'cause it never reached that level of consciousness 'cause it never got past ridiculous, hilarious, insane, 'r numb. The stutters went right past him. There wasn't no nothin' else open, Physics, Biology, no nothin'. His partin' comment, "Even if there were openings in these classes, which there are not, your records show large gaps of sporadic school attendance, that you haven't taken the required pre-requisites to take classes like Physics or Biology. Take my advice, without those classes it's impossible to understand anything that's going on in them, let alone pass them. Looking at your records, we don't even know what grade to put you in." So, plunk, ya went! The joke of it all was what kept ya sane 'n together through the whole fiasco. There was an instant reevaluation of yer presentation techniques; yer one 'n only strong point was the stutters; the blinks musta counted fer somethin'. What a goodie-bag of skills. Quite a repertoire, huh? Stand aside 'n take note, all. The fool, as never played before, doth enter. To come t grips with yerself wouldn'ta done much good either 'cause yerself was entirely unavailable fer comment, 'n the last you'd seen of him was him a-rollin' round in hysterical laughter. No hope from any quarter. Ahhh, yes! The kid. Still there? The instructor was doin' small group skits 'n plays in the class, with some kids also workin' in a major production. These kids was tryin' t get inta the theater perfessionally. Every one of 'em was good. The joke thickened. The truth was the best approach, 'n when they saw how long it took ya t string two words together, they could also see the humor of what'd happened. "Don't worry about it," they said (Hey! Here he
comes -- The Kid. Betcha thought he didn't even exist. Course, grammatically not exactly where he should be, but when the chips are down that cavalry sure do look nice comin' over the rise. Ya need him, there he is -- The Kid!), 'n a kid volunteered t work with ya on a stock skit about life in the trenches of Europe during World War I. The stutters didn't seem t bother anybody. They looked at it as jus' another role that they'd probably played before, though undoubtably not as good. Very relaxed all round. It didn't take no time at all t figure out that these were the top students in the whole school. As soon as they opened their mouths, principles 'n values worth ponderin' could be seen hidden in the meanin's; 'n the top of the top, the Student Body President, was the Kid what'd volunteered t help the stutterin' new student. We both had surprises in store as we worked together on the skit 'n some other projects, at school 'n over at his house. Little by little we found out about each other's interests, goals, past. Yer past bouncin' around didn't seem t affect him one way 'r the other, 'ceptin' at times he'd look real perplexed, like somethin' didn't fit: especially after discussin' ideas 'bout physics; philosophies; sociological patterns -- past, present, 'n future; biological traits 'n human behavior patterns. He'd usually throw his hands up in the air, "Stop! Stop! Where did you learn that stuff? Interesting isn't the word. Mind boggling is more like it. We didn't cover any of that material here, and I've been in all the advanced classes. Now explain that last point again, slowly." (In people talk) "OK. Though the trait 'r characteristic may be in the third 'r fourth generation, where it's supposed t be, like spots reappearin on the mice, it may not show itself if the right social structure isn't also present 'r cannot be obtained 'r created. Unfortunately, the
absence of this right social structure' that overrides the undesirable trait also overrides the desirable as well. In a nutshell, if ya want the best of the good, you'll have t take it right along with the worst of the bad. Fer the present anyway. Example: Grandpaup t here, as a kid, with dear ol dadmight have
initiated a little new wave thought (Thingsll sure be different around here!) inadvertantly creatin a foothold, a precedent, fer somethin inside him seekin freedom, so that , unbeknownst, maybe a little bit more of him, other than his big ears, might have a better chance of escapin, up the road a piece, a few generations, when his grandkids climbed over that fence, precedent in hand. Why, peas in a pod! So much so, kinda like comin back, returnin, like that Far Eastern philosophyreincaranation, but fer real. The earsd fool ya; itd be the trait between em resurfacin, again n again. Lookin at the big picture: LockeRousseauJeffersonLincoln--________--, r Adolf--________---. A lot can be read inta that!" And next ya tried explainin yer forty fields at once t him. (near fifty by this time) The more real things ya take inta consideration, the more real will be yer approach at any given moment in time. Yer mind will aim all these fields at any situation ya come across n point ya in the right direction. Not the answer; just the approach. More times than not itll be a whole new, yet unknown, way of lookin at things. Seems t work like some kinda primitive, universal calculus algorithm fer us common folk, fer survival most likely. Like thinking, but with something t think with. Never is just one solution, permanent like. backwards fer present things. Its all temporary. Most folk will look
The good old days wasnt no moren the present,
loaded with grief n fewer options. Need lots of options! Does any of this make any sense? So by the time you'd suggested changin' this stock drama inta a comedy, a cross between Charlie Chaplin 'n staid English Noblemen havin' tea in the trenches, he was all ears. He said he'd been in plays 'n theater since he was a little kid 'n never heard of it bein' done like this; but after yer, "Well, it may be jus' the way ya look at things. There may be more in it fer laughs than cryin'; 'n this skit may be all cried out," he thought it worth a try. We had a terrible time keeping a straight face in practice 'n later on the stage. Anything we said 'r did not only tore us up with laughter but the audience, likewise. At the same time this was goin' on, 'n because of it, you entered another even more audacious role -- disc jockey fer the school's huge population durin' the lunch hour. Laugh! The idea was even beyond hilarious, 'ceptin' somethin' was happenin'. There'd been a real effort on yer part, as of late, t figure out why it was necessary t stutter. When posed 'n attacked as a problem, the answer couldn't be far behind. Strategies was formed: easier sounds first, attached t harder sounds; confidence 'n relaxin'; lyin' t yerself thatcha never stuttered, 'n the reason ya paused was 'cause ya was thinkin' (which was true). Between the drama class 'n you a-helpin' the Student Body President with his new disc jockey program 'n yer own strategies, the stutters all but disappeared in no time at all. You'd noticed that most kids, 'r folks fer that matter, talk 'cause they can 'n don't say much 'cause they can afford t waste words. Well, if ya can't afford t waste even pieces of 'em 'cause they're so hard t come by, whatcha do
say is more 'r less whatcha feel needs sayin', in as few words as possible. Course, there was them that had nothin' t say but said it anyway. This idea of words still stuck. Don't waste 'em. The Kid needed someone, not only dependable but\, who could help him solve all the problems that constantly came up tryin' t keep the program afloat; from keepin' machinery runnin', commanderin' materials, jugglin' time, convincin' sponsors, gettin' shook of time wastin', problem causin' kids 'n adults 'n activities, t somebody who wasn't afraid of husslin' 'n sweatin' when the need arose. He said he near gave up hope until he volunteered t help some stutterin' new kid. Yes, sir, he figured if we worked hard, we could pull this here disc jockey program off with the best of 'em. Now any fool can be president of the U.S. 'n keep it runnin' sorta, but fer what if he don't say somethin' worth listenin' t every now 'n then. The Kid's program was standard fare, more of a shotgun approach, though he thought considerably on it philosophically. This philosophy angle appeared t be the most important part of the package, the guts of the machinery 'n, after sizin' things up as such, merited deep ponderin'. So, one day a while later, durin' the program when the subject was at hand, lookin' down from the second floor at all them students out there, this is more 'r less whatcha laid on him. "Kid, look out there at all them thousands of students; nary a one of 'em the same; grades'll tell ya that. Gotta put this thing here in its proper perspective. Now the top ten tunes probably don't effect half of 'em, more'n likely less. You, yerself, like classical, folk, 'n a little rock, not much. Know of a few others, too, of that persuasion. Which means ya gotta diversify; sorta like a stock portfolio. Talkin' yer
language now, huh? Give 'em a touch, every now 'n then, with somethin' way back when -- a time not thought of but remembered; they'll stop 'n listen 'n feel better fer it. The ones that are goin' someplace ain't gonna get there on a head fulla air; give some of 'em credit fer havin' a brain. Play yer garbage in low listenin', high interference, hollerin', shoutin', 'n clatterin' time t satisfy the seekers of noise; but, after you've et 'n are settin' there with a friend sharin' somethin' close, quality can only enhance the moment. What goes better with a girl 'n her guy, two friends not seein' each other all day, a quiet chess game, a quick glance at notes before the quiz next period? Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis. Let Little Richard stomp 'n mash their potatoes fer 'em 'n splatter their ketchup all over the place, spill their cokes, 'n clatter their garbage cans; but heal the wounds, lift the spirits, 'n tenderize the moment with Patti Page. In a word, feed the swill t the dogs at slop time, but save the best fer last. (That last's not new; been used before, a few years back.) Jus' a bit of o1' homespun, Kid." Sounded reasonable, so that seemed t be the direction we headed. Ratin's jumped fast, listenin' audience increased considerably! It was now a time of thinkin', calm, 'n sharin' in a terribly hectic day. Yep, give some of 'em credit fer havin' a brain; they ain't all hopped up toadies. Summer came. The Kid left fer university. When school started, the school newspaper informed everybody the Key Club, whatever that was, with the support of their parents, board members, 'n school officials would now be runnin' the lunch disc jockey program. Interestin'! Best t let it go at that. Can't fight city hall. These Key Club students turned out t be spoiled, rotten, whinin', whimperin', rich kids, gropin' fer more power when they ran outta things t acquire. Well, fer two weeks they fought,
squabbled, tugged, 'n wrenched things around up there, all dozen of 'em, soundin' like a nursery school with all the whinin'; 'n fer two weeks the listeners tried t shut 'em up. Such a clatter ruined their lunch, 'n where did they get that music? And at the end of two weeks it was all over. All the equipment was broken beyond repair. The records were gone. The sponsors quit, wantin' nothin' t do with somethin' that discouraged business 'n gave 'em a bad name fer supportin' what was goin' on up there. There'd been piles of threatenin' letters t the kids; a couple of 'em had got beat up, 'n others were stayin' home, as the kids had got t threatenin' listeners over the air 'n tellin' 'em who their mothers were. A last ditch delegation of three 'r four of the Key Club's members dug ya up 'n tried t make some kinda deal with ya: that, if you'd repair all the broken equipment, write the programs, 'n go out 'n get new sponsors, they'd mention yer name on the program. Well, t start with, there wasn't any more program; 'n here's what they got in reply t their request, "Sorry fellas, think ya got the wrong guy. The story goes, there was a couple half-locos up there, doin' whatever they could get away with, 'n now they're both gone. Other than that, you know as much as the next guy about 'em. Sorry couldn't help. Hey, but keep lookin'." It was jus' a one shot thing. Jus' two a-passin' 'n stoppin' fer a moment. Wasn't nothin' t do with keepin' old equipment runnin', programmin', 'r ideas -- all props that was jus' there a-waitin'. Coulda been in a cow pasture, wouldn'ta made the turds any holier; 'r even a detainin' home fer kids -- right, Angelina? What would anybody want with all that old, fallin' apart, electrical junk -- not t mention hangin' around 'n associatin' with all those dissipates, spineless mealy mouths? Take it all fellas, it's yers.
On t jobs. Try t remember t drag school 'n home inta this, as it's all happenin' at the same time. It was the usual story: lotsa jobs went beggin'. Ya didn't even hafta go a-lookin fer 'em either; they had a way of lookin' fer you 'n throwin' themselves on ya. A fella coulda worked day 'n night if he'd a mind t; but yer education was first: inventin' things, readin' books, studyin' critters, 'n not t mention, of course, all the time ya hadda put in gettin' school outta the way. With a little discretion, jobs could be picked that took up the least possible time, 'n yet provided ya with ample funds t pursue yer interests 'n education. Enough 'n no more. Might even pick up a few skills on the way. The first suitable position was a Pizza place after school. Ya learned t make everything the o1' fashioned way: spaghetti, ravioli, macaroni, sauces, 'n slingin' pizza. There wasn't much store bought anything, except the makin's; and, as life is all mixed up anyway, yer life became entangled in this place as much as any bowl of spaghetti 'n as entwined in its characters as any pizza with its cast of anchovies, garbanzo beans, 'n pepperonis. The next position was at two movie theaters takin' care of the marquee. The Student Body President worked ya inta this one, so's when he left, ya jus' took over. The other folks that worked here didn't mind a bit with ya bein' interested in what they was a-doin', how they did it, projectionist t management -- skills worth knowin'. Course, subliminal advertisin wasnt new; rememberin all those war films the Lieutenant was continually showin ya as a child. Well, that sorta sets the stage fer home, school, 'n jobs. Now all the little
characters creeps outta their cracks on cue, plays their parts, 'n fades back inta the shadows. Only this was fer real. Hey! Maybe in this next little skit you, dear reader, could try puttin' yerselves inta their parts as we go along. Remember -- think real!! The o1' home town! But, before we get onta the stage, we gotta clear up somethin' that's been botherin' the dickens outta everybody, whether yer tryin' t read 'r t write this stuff. Up until now we have been going on the idea that what was written and accurately recorded seemed to be more important than diction and pronunciation, but after trying to read your own writing, improving yourself could not be too far off the mark. With having to use words so much now, and painfully aware of how terrible yours were, after you had finally figured out what you were doing to the King's English, you decided to do something about it, as you have already undoubtably noticed with the use of improved and proper grammar. However, somehow it does not feel or sound quite right, though; and this puritanical, propitious pursuit almost turned out to be one of your numerous dumb ideas a real catastrophe; but you were fortunate to see the pitfalls and catch yourself in time. To be "educated and proper" 'bout gotcha there. Snuck right up on ya, it did. It all happened with a purchase of a dictionary. As time went by you succeeded in raising your vocabulary to a level of total inefficiency, to the destruction of necessary communication, not only in your immediate peer group, but also within the circles wherein you chose to function. To be an erudite is all well and good, if one does not have to function; but how much more to be cognizant of the ass you have created and be capable of laying the noxious prude to rest, for the
benefit and relief of all, putting it out of its misery and everyone else's. People communicate, and what is necessary to communicate should be the prime objective -whatever guttural grunts will best suit the given situation. Be flexible -- as a man who knows when, "t make a buck sellin' a few pounds of fish 'n when t exchange 'em fer information, enjoyment, 'n education, givin' 'em in good faith, expectin' nothin' in return but a causal conversation, pleasant 'n enrichin' fer both parties. Could ya strike a better bargain fer worth?" Glad t get that "erudite" tomfoolery outta yer system before it did too much damage. One can "evolute" oneself inta extinction, whose epitaph would read, "A nonfunctional subspecies that flagellated itself to death with its own tongue." Can't have that now, can we!? So the language that will be used hereafter, will, unfortunately, (structural purists please don't grit yer teeth so much) be subject t the laws of communication. Therefore, correctness must, at times, move its "delicate ARSE" over 'n share the bench with the grist of survival, that meat 'n drink may be put on the table 'n good conversation can be had by all -- 'r go hungry. Yes, indeed, one can be the erudite 'n stand as the fool. 'Sides kids ain't supposed t be smart; 'n when they come off that way, they appear as fools. Real smart could maybe be knowin' when t be dumb sometimes, keepin' the mouth shut 'r sayin' nothin' with words. Maybe whatever is necessary t function anywhere could be counted as a skill. Who knows? The way you've been bouncin' round might be looked at as practice 'r trainin'. How would ya talk t someone who didn't even speak yer language: someone youd meet while bouncin' round in another country perhaps? (Don't laugh. The situation is possible, ya know.)
Then, even if ya could speak their language, how would ya know how t say it t a fisherman 'r a professor? There's a difference! What would happen if ya wished t play the fool? Could ya do it naturally? Might language be even looked on as a tool? A game? God!! Better watch yerself on this one, 'r you'll start thinkin' like the counselors 'r staff in the Home 'r, jus' as bad, politicians. Still, if a man wished merely t honestly communicate 'n not deceive (too much), who knows? Then if a fella wanted t say somethin', it'd be best if it was somethin' he wanted t say 'n not somethin' somebody else wanted t say 'r wanted him t say. Confusin'? Yer right there! Like, if after readin' Poe, a fella could rant 'n, "Quoth no more," until folks about really didn't want him t, "Quoth no more." That was his (Poe's) time 'n his place t say his piece -- 'n wordin' didn't seem t matter much. He'd a-done as well, however it came out. Jus' the gettin' it out: grumblin', beatin' with rocks 'r sticks was important. If it was yer time 'n yer place t speak yer piece, best ya speak yer mind 'n not somebody else's. So, fer the sake of authenticity, dont complain. Ya know, this here mess coulda been in Gaelic, right, Mr. Burns? Youd jus hafta adjust t what was comfortable, real communication . Didnt wanna get stuck in no rut, high r low road. The jus right road, thats it. Enough said of that proper stuff. Get that critter buried once n fer all. Oh! By the way. Have ya caught yerself connectin' the phonetic patterns left purposefully unconnected fer you t play with: getcha, madeja type things! Smoothin' the jerks out. Lots more in here. Keep lookin'. Most normal folks connect 'em naturally. The Student Body President Kid had never met such the like. Ready fer yer little bit parts?
The Pizza house was located on a very well traveled main street close t the boss's house, the two bein' separated by only a small vacant lot. Convenient. Though he, himself, was a very talented man of distinction, doin' well in numerous careers, his home showed no evidence of his many skills. From his unkept, unmowed, 'n cluttered lawn 'n hedge, t his dilapidated house, you'd get the idea of vacancy 'r squatter. Wife, a nice lady. Kids, not too bad. Donnie, the oldest, about yer age, was always in a constant adjustment t life; handlin' it fairly well, though, fer a while anyway. The smaller boys were pretty nondescript. Though prosperity abounded, as ya entered the bare, drab house -- with rarely more'n a stick 'r two of old, second hand 'n rickety furniture -- it was never evident. Are ya ready fer yer castin' debut -- auditions? Those of you who wish t be cast as wife, husband, 'r kids, please take yer parts. Picture the scene. You, the husband, are drunker'n hell 'n beatin' yer wife; 'n you, little woman, are takin' it. Get yer husband 'r some other big lout -- this guy was big t plaster ya in the face, bounce ya offa walls -THUMP! THUMP! CRASH! -- yeh, that's it -- think real. Ferget the play actin' stuff. Get right down t the SPLATTERS! THUDS! GROANS! 'n MOANS!! That's it, big guy. Kick her in the ribs while she's down. Excellent! Excellent! Get her t shriek a little. (Hey, if yer wife's not home 'r ya ain't got one, grab the neighbor's wife 'r any frail passin' on the street. Smaller ones are better fer the part.) Make sure yer kids get that terror look in their eyes, a-cowerin' in the corner. Get them chairs flyin', bowls crashin' against walls, 'n windows breakin'. Get with it!! Bust that stuff up, fella! Take them punches, woman! This ain't Hollywood -- no fill-ins, perfessionals here. Favorite things
she's worked so hard t buy, yeh, that vase; bust her with it. Come on now! Smash her in the face with it. Yeh, that's it. Now kick her in the stomach a few more times, jus' t make sure she's good 'n limp. Scream at her -- "WHORE!" "BITCH!" 'r somethin' disgustin'. Makes good script. Now go sit down 'n relax awhile with a cold beer till the next scene, fella. OK. Ready now, guy? You go out 'n live it up fer a week -- booze, broads, the works; 'n come back after yer tired of yer barf 'n barflies, flashin' lotsa bucks. Start passin' the $20's around out t the kids. That's it, make 'em all happy again. Bring that family together. AWWW! Don't worry about gettin' it right this first time (Let's hope this was yer first time: though ya sure looked hot, kickin' her in the stomach, with "BITCH" hissin' out between yer clenched teeth) 'cause we're gonna be a-doin' this scene every couple weeks 'r so fer a decade 'r two. You'll get the hang of it. Yer wife, 'r whoever ya said that woman was, ya say she's been in the bathroom, gaggin' on the floor, spittin' up blood all this last week?! Hey!! Don't worry!! Few bucks'll make it all right. Make sure yer kids see how it's done correctly. Hey, how'd ya like it? Sure, they're only bit parts now; but it's a beginnin'. Whole new world -- excitin'! Donnie, fer whatever the reason, didn't care t hang around the house much, so we'd find ourselves out in the desert plinkin' at rabbits 'bout any chance we got. An incident happened once when we was plinkin' rabbits on some government land, out in the desert, that was off limits, as they'd done some testin' of some kind out there, maybe radioactive somethin' 'r other. The area looked jus' like the rest of sagebrush 'n nothin' that surrounded everywhere else we'd been that day; 'n outta curiosity, we decided t wander about 'n give it a quick once over. Well, we'd separated
a good hundred yards, walkin' parallel down a slope, when he comes a-runnin' 'n shoutin', "Jeeze! Did you see that?" Wavin' arms 'n legs in everywhere directions. After he was calmed down 'n finally got it all spit out, what it amounted t was that he'd seen the biggest Jack Rabbit that ever there was. Shortly he left, searchin' fer it again. Well, big is big, but what he was describin' sounded more like a small kangaroo, ears up t his shoulders 'n all. Hmmmmmm? Puttin' two 'n two together real quick. This is a deserted area, restricted 'n off limits because of past government tests; 'n THAT had also been a deserted area, restricted 'n off limits because of past government, laboratory testin'. Quickly recallin' some years back, while in the "Home", a high, overgrowth covered, fenced in "Off Limits" government pond, ten miles away from the Home, hid in a forested area with DANGER signs, no longer visible, except by creepin' under high overgrowth. The signs were rusted 'n pretty well blotched, but "DANGEROUS MATERIALS ... U.S. GOVERNMENT" could still be picked out. A couple kids from the Home had accidently wandered through all that undergrowth 'n found a hole under the fence 'n reported back t us what they'd seen. As it turned out, there was probably more "determined 'n purposeful" than "accidental" wanderin' involved, after personally goin' t the place a number of times. A real tangled mess that opened up only t the most obstinate investigator. The stories they brought back were fulla huge frogs, big tadpoles with extra tails, mouths, 'n legs, albino tadpoles as big as baseballs, all lumpy 'n 'bent. Well, you know how kids' stories are. WE even knew how kids' stories were back then. But, if there was any inaccuracy in these stories, it was because they didn't
tell it all. What they told was 100% correct, but they didn't stick around long enough t make real, complete observations of everything else that was upside down, inside out, 'n all mixed up in the little dammed up, fenced in pond. Whatever them government folk had been a-doin' in there years ago, they'd sure've won the Dr. Jekyll 'n Mr. Hyde award today fer special effects fer their efforts back then -- clean sweep --no contest! Well, all stories have their big OOOOOO's, AHHHHH's 'n, WOW!!; 'n this tale ain't no exception 'cause it ends bein' anything documental when it's nothin' more'n a nine year old's reckonin' 'n account of how it was. (Besides, you don't believe any of this stuff anyway, do ya?) The big OOOOOO was there all right, 'n words was useless in the describin' of it, even in the imaginin' of it -- 'n that in a very fertile nine year o1' imagination. The best thing t do would be jus' t drop this big OOOOOO right here 'n forget there ever was a WOW like no other WOW'S. But some of them other kids has already let the story out, 'n it's already a legend, so it's nothin' new. You probably wouldn't believe their account of it either, 'n if yer not really up t lookin' inta the stuff that legends are made of, ya probably won't give anything more'n a sneer t this account neither. Common sense says t shut up while yer ahead, but who's got any common sense? So, here it is, 'n if it don't strike ya as somethin' worth ponderin', well, up yers!! It took three visits before ya finally saw HIM fer the first time. The only error the other kids made was that they couldn't exaggerate HIM enough. That's somethin' t say about the inventors of the Boogie Man, now, isn't it?! If this first encounter hadn't been an accident, yer imagination couldn't've prepared yer mind fer what t look for. Picture
this: slitherin' on yer belly, under heavy brush, ever so quietly, so's ya can get close t that big stump next t the pond 'n hide behind it; so's ya can carefully watch everything, unobserved. Ten minutes later yer half way there, lookin' like ya belong there. After five minutes rest 'n observation, ya still can't see nothin' a-watchin' ya, but yer innards tells ya otherwise: that there's somethin' sittin' right close a-gawkin' atcha, clear as day; but yer innards ain't got together with yer imagination yet t pull this thing off. So, off ya creep, towards that big stump. Safety in that big stump. Didn't appear t be no poison oak in all this brush -- sure hoped not; but there's sure stickers stuck in all over ya. Ya crawl 'n observe. Reconnoiter. Isn't that what they call it? There's only a couple saplings between you 'n that cleared off mud bank with that big stump right in the middle of it. Nobody's a-lookin' atcha, except that sixth sense a-goadin' ya. Only five more minutes, n the big stump. Ya finally pass the saplings 'n crawl inta the outer part of the cleared, muddy area, 'n then, right before yer very eyes, yer very ears, yer very innards, yer very imagination, yer very powers of observation, yer seein', hearin', imaginin', observin' 'n realizin' all come crashin' together like a Three Stooges comic skit; 'n as yer innards are sayin', "Told ya so, fella," ya watch the Big o1' Stump take off 'n sail through the air -bein' propelled not only by piles of monstrous legs, but also by a deep, shakin', long, looong belchin' croak, like Jack's Giant after a keg of beer. "WOW!" was all that came outta yer mouth 'r registered through yer mind. The only fact that seemed worth recordin' at this time was its very existence. IT EXISTED!! "THAR SHE BLOWS!" Earth words weren't permitted in describin' HIM! Nothin' common'd do at that moment. Later, when yer eyes returned back t their sockets 'n yer gapin' jaw found its hinges
again, observation 'n scrutiny revealed, as ya examined prints left on his mud throne 'n angles of where you'd crouched, that HE'D sat near two feet tall 'n as wide at HIS base. What we had here wasn't jus' big, huge, giant', 'r humongous -- them's words. What we had here wasn't jus' no ordinary word. He was an OOOOOO!!, an AHHHHHH!! He was even more'n the FROG of frogs; more'n the KING of frogs. What we had here was KONG FROG!! Further visits 'n observations added the trimmin' 'n revelations no mere mortal this here KONG FROG. No, siree! Not with them four monstrous (two sets of) hind legs 'n all them other sets of eyes on the back of his head; 'n, when HE was all stretched out 'n unsprung in flight (HE wasn't inta no mere jumpin'. He was inta flight!), HE stretched from here t there 'n then some. HE inspired AWE, even reverence. Here was somethin' ya could truly believe in. What we really had here folks wasn't jus' no legendary KONG FROG, but GOD FROG. If ya wanted religion, HE could give it t ya; with all those eyes, ya knew fer sure HE could see everything that was goin' on, everywhere. Then, as ya was silently standin' there a-ponderin' all these wonders, there HE stood before ya; ears reachin' even above yer shoulders. "Well!! We meet again!" There HE stood, magnificent! HE looked like a creature that should be livin' on another continent far away, on the other side of the earth, down under; 'n fer a moment ya were standin' in the Australian outback, lookin' at one of its native creatures, tall 'n splendid, with ears omnipotent, that could hear ferever. The spell was only broken by, "You'd better run along now, fella, before Donnie comes back." Only an incident in passin' that leaves one t wonderin' about the credibility of the author 'n of other things, as well. Through Donnie ya picked up an interest in firearms that far went beyond his
mere plinkin'. There was mechanisms -- old 'n new, ballistics, velocities, trajectories, metals, powders 'n gunsmithin'; and, before long, ya found yerself tearin' apart every old 'r new firearm ya could get yer hands on 'n visitin' museums 'n private collections, examinin' relics of: wood, the pioneers, the frontier, wars, 'n homemade jobbies, from kids' zip guns t famous gangster creations; 'n eventually ya found yerself in match pistol competition with the best of 'em. In the process of explorin' all the avenues, 'n alleys, of firearms, gunsmithin', 'n handloadin' yer own ammunition, there were acquaintances struck; some on one side 'n some on the other side of the tracks. Some, ya might say, was nuts, but there was some pretty smart nuts . Ya might even say that some was about as good as ya could get in their field. A couple was pure loco -- that is, t most folks, who wouldn't come anywhere near 'em; but, on spendin' some time gettin' t know 'em -- exchangin' ideas, readin' between the lines things -- they jus' had ideas that was a little different than you'd likely expect t be runnin' through the minds 'r crossin' the thoughts of the general thinkin' pattern; some was even worth ponderin'. Oh! By the way, yer P.O., who'd got t know ya pretty good, O.K.'d yer pursuit in this area. Donnie had difficulty, at times, pickin' good company, 'n, in a big city, there sure wasn't any lack of the other. His mother did what she could, between flyin' chairs, 'n, if any good ever comes of him, it'll be due t' her 'n not t the wads of money dumped on him by his o1' man, in 'r out of drunken stupors. Course, if a kid don't care t hang around home much ..... A time 'r two he wound up draggin' a few of his new
buddies out huntin' with us, 'n they'd wind up shootin' at us, 'r each other, fer games. There was enough dingbats out huntin' up other hunters as ya didn't need t go invitin' 'em along. It hadn't even been more'n a few weeks back when four 'r five guys with shotguns, hidin' behind a rollin' hill, had penned ya inta a valley fer a half-hour -- until ya figured out the gauge, range, 'n distance 'n made a dash fer it, circlin' around t watch 'em unawares. Bunch of rich kids out a-funnin'. Took ya a couple days before ya got out all the buckshot -- smarts somewhat! Better watch yer company, Donnie! Wandered in on him one day at his house, not havin' seen him around fer a while, 'n he'd got hisself a bunch of body-buildin' weights in his search fer whoever he figured he was 'r wanted t be. He was a-bendin' 'n twistin' somethin' terrible, like all his rubber was meltin', tryin' t get the sixty pound barbell above his shoulders with both his arms. Come near t rupturin' everything that's rupturable, from his toes t his eye sockets. He nearly exploded -- jus' settin' the weights down. He was standin' in front of a full length mirror, flexin' his muscles 'n struttin', 'n he pompously ordered, full of gloat, "You give it a try!" -- expectin' nobody on earth t match his exploits. There was another barbell weight of 125 pounds over at the side. Calmly ya bent over 'n pressed it with one arm, holdin' it quietly, nearly touchin' the ceilin' 'n lookin' at him, with his mouth wide open 'n pie-sized eyes, "What yer lookin' fer Donnie, ain't here." Slowly settin' it down, ya declined his offer t go huntin', fer the weekend, with a bunch of his "new" buddies. After awhile jus' didn't see him around no more; he'd wandered off 'n
faded away some place. Not much homin' instincts there. Summin' up the year you'd spent here was more a way of looking at things than addin' 'em up. Even in the "lookin' at things", ya wasn't guaranteed any understandin' of 'em. Some, a few, ya could get a loose handle on. The rest? Everything a-happenin', 'n you a-doin' it all at once didn't seem t pose any problems. It was the moments of perplexity that (Thought that "that" would've been a "what", didn't ya!? A bit of the o1' erudite hangin' on, still twitchin') popped up more often than not, that left ya with a feelin' thatcha was supposed t understand somethin' that everybody else took fer granted; 'n, lest ya was from another planet, you'd understand it like the way, "it was supposed t be." This is really confusin', now, isn't it? If yer still stickin' in there 'n tryin' t read this garbled mess, don't. Throw it away 'n find some useful pursuit. Even the examples, t try 'n help, only confuse more. If yer not capable of takin' sound advice, as appears t be the situation, 'n are still here, see if this helps; bein' as all this sound advice has, apparently, been wasted. Gymnastics practice went on all year, 'n the coach was perplexed by not bein' able t get ya t compete. He'd say he'd seen ya sweatin' 'n workin' harder'n anybody else. Well, t yer way of lookin' at it, it was only that when one kid was finished with an apparatus, it gave ya an opportunity, some time, t work on it -- nothin' more. He'd come by every now 'n then when ya were sweatin', finishin' up on the rings, parallels, 'r somethin'. "It would kill half these guys if they worked anywhere nearly as hard as you
do," or, "Why are you doing it?" 'n, "What in the hell is inside of you?" (Sorta his favorite.) He'd leave shakin' his head. Best thing t do was stay outta his way; keep busy so he didn't have no time t talk t ya 'r interrupt yer sweatin', achin', tryin', reachin' this somethin' between you 'n yerself. That seemed t be what it was all about, t yer way of thinkin' anyway. Lookin' back on it years later, a marble popped outta the can, "Yeh! Why?" At the time it was confusin'. Still is! You gettin' the idea, the feelin'? No? Figured as much. Hey! Got it! One feeling comin' up. Gotta go way back fer this one; back t a totally institutionalized eight year old, havin' peed most of his life in ancient, institutionalized urinals 'n fer the first time steppin' inta a modern public school john, complete with up-t-date, scientific, mother-approved, modern urinals. Gather round folks; that's what the kids all wound up doin'. Now, enter 'n lookit those two identical, long troughs stuck up against the wall. Both about eight feet long, same color, same height, same long pipes fulla holes leakin' water attached t the back. Take yer pick. Remember, yer in a hurry. No one's here -- yet! Then, a few seconds later, here they come, jus' in time t witness, observe, 'n comment on the big event of the day: the new kid peein' in the trough fer washin' yer hands. Ya see, they all knew something ya didn't! How's that? That one better? Feelin' good! Yeh! Movin' right along. Ready? Remember the Student Body President Kid? Ya do!? Great! He pitched right in 'n pointed ya in a direction, right from the start. It wasn't only towards the end that great perplexities arose, but all along the way; from the beginnin',
little ones were sproutin' up daily; like at Drama class play practice -- important play practice, nothin' more important in his whole life play practice, startin' at 3:30 promptly. Through the stutters, "Ahhh! Four o-clock tonight, O.K.?" "Is there something we can help you with so you can make it at 3:30?" he replied. More stutters, "Ahhh, 3:45 O.K.? Best offer." His reply, "Well, we've arranged a ride for you at 3:30. Is it something important?" Stutters, "Well, sorta. Three-thirtys really cuttin' it close." Now you can see why such short work was made of his excellency, the gang leader hood, with our appointment-like arrangement get together after school, t the accompaniment of all his little hoods 'n flunkies. Lookin' at it the Student Body President's way was sure the way t do it. What could be more important than the best student in the school helpin' a new kid who needed help worse than anybody ever needed help? A real crusade. The hood wasn't even worth ten minutes of yer time. Five minutes? Naw. Two minutes, tops! Made it at 3:30. Great play practice. Took some doin', though it was worth it, t adjust t their way of lookin' at things. They was still perplexed as t why there shoulda been any problem at all. They knew how t spend their time wisely -- in academic pursuits. That's why they were the tops! There were other occasions, important events, that sometimes coincided with yer need t disappear inta the woodwork 'n cracks of society t meet some gun nut 'r "loco" livin' in a dingy, one room hole in the wall, in an old dilapidated apartment, t compare notes 'n ideas on testin' velocities, trajectories, metal qualities, 'n general ballistics. The
Kid was curious 'n often perplexed, at times, at yer double life but left it at that. T him, what could be more important than free passes t a premier showin', auditions fer a play at the city's big playhouse? Hey, even got a part once when he'd tricked ya inta goin' down. Turned it down. Set him back, along with others there who practiced perpetually fer these parts. Somethin' jus got a-hold of ya up on that stage. Took control. No, sir! Didn't need no more things gettin' a holda ya. No communication any which way at all on that one. Hey! First readin', too! What really stretched his seams was jus' before he left fer college. His father, it turned out, was a man of some importance, though the kid never mentioned it 'n always kept his own life pretty down t earth. Not only was his father a man of influence, but he gave considerable thought t the opinions of his son. Well, between them 'n the board members of a large university, they'd made arrangements that a scholarship be made available t you upon completion of yer high school education. You can be impressed 'n set back, but what do ya say t somethin' of this nature when yer future's still a million years away, even fer tomorrow, 'n rests in the hands of crazies? He couldn't understand the idea of never havin' even considered such a course t set yer sails by. Jus' a way of thinkin' was all it really boiled down too. Shocked him fer you not thinkin' it, 'n shocked you fer thinkin' it. This was not t mention the increasin' awareness of them on the OUTS that was willin' t give a hand, do what they could do, no questions asked. Jus' the knowin' of it, that they wasn't all pirates 'n highway men, calmed the seas some.
Course, where there's confusion there's gotta be a woman close by t keep the waters muddied up, 'n if she's beautiful, untouchable, 'n lookin' innocent, steer clear, give her room -- a wide berth. She was quiet, calm, 'n pure, from her long golden brown hair, exquisite facial features, t a body that even in modest apparel sent guys inta bathroom stalls 'n cold showers. T not think about her was t not suffer. Think pure! Pure innocence! Think trouble if ya had any sense 'cause nobody buys that kinda pure innocence, untouched, in this big city, lest there was muscle close by. Lots of it. She was her own quiet circle. Polite 'n courteous, 'n that was it, playin' no games with anybody. Nobody stepped over the line. A cut above the riff-raff. A whole lotta cuts above the riff-raff 'n everybody else -- not by conceit, but imposed by birth 'n family. She'd been in the new, quiet kid's class when he first hit school. She also knew what happened t new kids. She'd seen his avoidance of problems; his confronting the hood's flunkies; and his unblinking, unstuttering, unconcerned acceptance of the taking on of his excellency; all the while he went about finishing his class work. In the short time he'd been here, he was now right there amongst the top. No dummy. She'd also seen the end of the big, tough, loudmouthed hood's pomp, ceremony, and glut and the end of his preppy cult of scummos when he came back to school a week later with a face so torn up, swollen, black and blue that he had to leave and go back home for
another couple weeks. She'd also, one day a month later, at the end of class, appeared standin' before the new quiet kid, with head 'n eyes down, lookin' at her books 'n softly pleadin', "Please be careful," 'n was gone. The word was out there was somethin' goin' down; 'n the dethroned hood with a bunch of his flunkies, along with some out of town hoods, was gonna make sure it was you. No more rules; pipes, chains, everybody at once. Make it ugly. God! Ya shoulda seen the council jump up. Jus' ashamed of 'em ya was fer a while there, but rememberin' what they were there for gave ya a certain queasy, kinda peace. Jeeze! Another one of these, fellas? No one seemed t know when it was gonna come off, but some of the out-oftowners showed up on campus 'n started hasslin' ya. Well, we've already discussed what happened t them two guys. That night Stan said he'd tag along 'n tough it out, even if he did get all tore up, knowin' he was in too far over his head after seein' what'd happened t them two out-of-towners. He said he wasn't quite up t takin' 'em out that fast, but he'd stick with ya jus' the same. Yer reply, "Thanks kid, but. Some of these guys think they wanna step up. Big time. Let's hope theyve got enough sense between the lot of 'em t rethink it through.. If not? If not, well, maybe we'll have t see what one can do. Be interestin', fer sure. Thanks fer the offer anyway, kid!" Stan wandered off still mumblin' t hisself, "When did it happen?" Maybe that week they jus' wanted t scare ya inta stayin' home. Who knows? All kinda stories went around: "Man, the guy's got balls; 'n "He ain't even payin' no
attention to none of us;" 'n "He ain't packin' nothin' -- no pipes or anything, only himself." Then, after the incident with the two out-of-towners, the stories changed a bit: "Shit, we didn't think nobody was that tough;" "I don't care how many of us there are, I don't want him gettin' his hands on me!" Course, they was only stories. Within a few weeks the tension eased some. Maybe they couldn't find an alley dark enough 'r a crack deep enough t forget what'd happened t their leader 'n them other two. In a while it all died down. Course, there was still mumblin's that it wasn't right not t have a gang at school. Yep! It all seemed t fade out 'n disappear, except, "Please be careful." She'd even slipped quietly inta the gym a few times, fer only a moment; sooo, sooo quietly. Unnoticed? Got some of the guys climbin' walls. The thought had never really entered yer mind, whatever thought that was supposed t be; but now it was disconcertin', recallin' the "great comic book caper" 'n another earlier instance -- keepin' them in mind, at the ready, fer quick, future reference. But maybe she was jus' wantin' no more than t talk, as someone else you'd known? She worked every day in the family's laundry business, out front in customer service. The hush word on the streets was that it was a very big family with lots of laundries 'n other type things. Anybody who had any strange ideas about approachin' this gal, fer whatever reasons, was gonna have t do it through the family. Every day, when ya passed by the big window, she would stop 'n watch, always a quiet smile. There was things, plain 'n obvious t anybody else, that left you feelin' like you
was on a lit stage, in front of the world, peein' in the washin' sink. Anyway, the way most of the guys talked 'n the girls acted, they wasn't nobody interested in jus' plain talk these days. Best t steer clear; though, at the time, it didn't seem too logical t eliminate half the human race from any of yer conversations. It was the end of the year 'n everybody was gonna be celebratin' tonight: lookin' back, forward, New Year's resolutions, 'n parties. The year had been good. School was calm -- well? Calmer'n most. Teachers was more'n fair, 'n the students, fer the most part, decent 'n, at times, helpful, most wantin' t keep their noses clean. Yer outside studies -critters in the mountains, desert, 'n ocean, inventions 'n the like -- was comin' along fine; but the o1' man was on the verge of explodin' daily, fer no reason, at anybody, 'n that "end was near" feelin' was all over ya, heavy -- a premonition. The feelin' appeared t be stronger'n jus' "good things don't last". Must be paranoia settin' in. It woulda been difficult not t remember that night. Right off, ya didn't wanna go t any late New Year's parties, as ya was hot on clues of old world wood finishin' techniques -- without the use of all the lacquers 'n chemicals "so necessary" today -- 'n, besides, never did seem t have any inclination towards partyin': watchin' people ya didn't really care t associate with anyway get drunk 'n puke. Told the movie house boss that ya might stop by later. At 10:30 ya left the home, tellin' the o1' gal you'd be back in about an hour, after makin' a token appearance at the job's New Year's party. The o1' guy was listenin' in the
dark living room. Always dark! He never turned on the light. Jus' sittin' in the dark -hour after hour. The party was goin' pretty wild when ya got there: dancin', games, hollerin', 'n lots of staggerin'. Declinin' some drinks that was offered , as alcohol would make a fool of ya by takin' the edge offa yer awareness 'n discretion 'n you'd wind up doin' dumb things , ya wandered over t the punch bowl. The boss said it was a punch mixture with no alcohol. It turned out the punch was spiked -- heavily with vodka. A couple kids that weren't employees had dropped by 'n wanted t have some fun. You'd already downed a large 1/2 quart cup of the odd tastin' mixture before ya caught on. Forty-five minutes later, after a game 'r two, one involvin' shoes, ya decided t head off home, though ya still couldn't find one of yer shoes. Pick it up tomorrow. The alcohol was affectin' ya some, 'n it would be good t get outta the stuffy melee 'n walk the mile home. Half way there ya discovered ya really needed t pee. The Pizza house was right there, closed. The service window latch was always left ajar fer the early mornin' workers t come in. You'd used it a dozen times. So in ya went t take a pee in the john. Walkin' by the small wine selection display, thirty bottles 'r so, mostly one half to one gallon jugs of inexpensive stuff with the rest in more selected wines, a wave of revulsion hit ya, rememberin' who drank most of this stuff (Donnie's father, the boss) 'n what happened after. The last month he'd really been at her, beatin' her up pretty bad; she never ever came outta the house no more. She was a nice lady. Donnie had thrown all the wine
away a time 'r two, only t get the same. The thought came t ya. Maybe ya could sock it t him some. Jus' need a place t hide 'n store some of it so's he couldn't find it 'n maybe give her a rest from all the beatin's at the same time. Where could ya put this stuff so he'd have difficulty findin' it? Let him suffer some. Probably jus' get more frustrated. Where would be a spot he wouldn't look fer it? Think long range on this one. God! Yer mind was a-doin' it t ya again. A smile appeared! There was an empty cardboard carton box, a couple feet high 'n wide, a bit longer, that some paper napkins had come in. After puttin' in a half dozen of the larger bottles of the cheap stuff he guzzled most (enough so's he'd notice its absence, but not all), ya accomplished yer deed 'n off ya went home. Enterin' the back kitchen door very quietly, as usual, ya made the few feet in the darkness t yer tiny four by seven foot porch room, 'n then everything went black. The blow on the back of the head 'n neck sent ya forward, sprawlin', bangin' yer head inta the wall 'n down on yer knees. Dazed 'n near outta it, ya felt the next blow hit ya on the back along yer shoulders. Then whatever it was started sluggin' 'n kickin', 'n then grabbed ya around the neck with his arm, wrenchin' 'n jerkin' terrible. A burglar? A knife in yer ribs would probably be next. Head reelin', stunned 'n near outta it, ya made one flingin' twist t get the guy loose from stranglin' ya. He went flyin' backwards 'n shook the whole house when he hit the living room wall. Then ya staggered 'n fell, 'n before ya knew it another one was on ya. The old gal had got on the phone, right off, 'n the police were there in a flash. Still dazed 'n tryin' t get shook of this other guy, who
somehow appeared t be the college student kid, the police came 'n put the cuffs on ya 'n carted ya away. You'd worked up quite a lather, not t mention yer dazed condition. Not only did this not make sense, you were too far outta it t do much protestin'.
CHAPTER 22
They packed ya off t Juvie again. What had happened you put together in bits 'n pieces over the next 7 months while ya were locked up; 'n the whole story only became known t ya after ya got out. A point in passin'. The police never hassled any of us kids in all their dealin's, even when some of us got inta mischief -- not preachin', readin' riot acts, only tryin' t do what was best fer us. They'd bring the Kids back with a, "Try to watch it next time, O.K.!" Even this last time there'd been a note of caution by one of the police, "Be careful with him; he's hurt!" Juvie, home away from home. Same familiar characters, but different faces. Same food, clothes, concrete, wire mesh, clangin' doors, X, specks, playin' in yer mind, 'n above all, more dead time! A morbid thought entered the machinery of yer mind, 'n once there it hadda be dealt with, as any thought that strayed too close t this forever hungry creature. Maybe
this was all "purposeful." Like goin' back 'n workin' on somethin' till ya learned it real good, practicin' 'n observin'. A fella sure wouldn't wanna miss such a golden opportunity t learn, now, would he? Though seein' all the merits in these "golden opportunities" was gettin' a little more difficult lately, wearin' a little thin along with yer fuse, there was a toughnin' up takin' place a stick around. On a lighter vein -- sprinkled in with the disinfected food, explodin' crazies, 'n solitary -- there was a matter of some concern t certain agencies. "All right now! What did you do with all that wine?" They'd seen the wet sock prints 'n deduced it was you who had entered. The statement read that the owner of the Pizza house had declared $1,800 worth of wine had been stolen. You could see his signature -- all legal. Agencies all notified. Insurance paid off. Musin' t yerself, "Yes, sir, $1,800. My, my, my. Tidy sum." Now the might 'n muscle of our whole establishment raced t the rescue of one of its prominent citizenry 'n flung itself upon the perpetrator. Well, that's maybe how you'd think it would turn out if ya read too many cheap detective comics 'r believed whatcha saw on T.V. (Occasionally ya had a chance t look at the fool contraption 'n realized it still conveyed the same old garbage.) But there were a few minor, extenuatin' circumstances. There was no confession t a crime that maybe hadn't been committed, 'n the plain clothes officers were sharp, streetwise, educated, didn't buy most of the lies kind that sorta sets in n starts t
that folks tossed at 'em, 'n sensed there was more t this than fillin' out a form 'n signin' it. They were also quite courteous 'n respectful-- comfortable t talk with. All preliminary searches fer the booze had been futile. Nothin' had turned up. Not one bottle. The Pizza house workers had searched the premises; the police had searched; the detectives had searched; the insurance agents had searched. A Wino's paradise! Someplace! Ordinarily this wouldn't pose any confusion -- but! "We know what time you left the party, and we know when you got home. We have calculated you could have spent no more than five minutes --max, in the Pizza house. You left the party alone. You arrived on the premises alone. You left alone. You arrived at your house alone. Inside the Pizza house your sock marks indicate no more that one entry and one exit." We all practiced our, "There was really nothin' stolen, sir," skills on each other. "Perhaps the crime you are referrin' to hasn't been committed!?" Around the
third visit they suspected that what you'd told 'em was the absolute truth -- sorta. They let themselves think aloud, kinda amusingly, "One, maybe the wine doesn't exist, or two, you are some kind of Houdini. We are beginning to suspect there is some of both in this case." Oh well! They were workin' on a case that wasn't entirely unpleasant. They knew ya had entered, but now they were absorbed in, "What on earth did he do with all that stuff?" Cases! Agencies were rackin' their brains. Life now had meaning! A challenge! A simple incident -- no more. Motive? Somethin' t think about. These
guys were smart; but smart enough t catch themselves a maintenance man? Months passed. Mothers still smuggled stuff in fer their "little innocents," 'n kids still exploded, 'n there was always a batch of new crimes 'n scams bein' stirred 'n brewed up in this rich septic tank of broken 'n bent things. A fella could look on this as a course refresher, an updatin' of what was goin' on. Helped ya keep abreast in yer field 'n profession. The shades, nuances (That's the word?), 'n fine characteristics of the bent mind became more clearly evident 'n recognizable. Life was still violent, but now ya were gettin' clearer pictures of the seeds of violence, not that you, 'r perhaps anybody, could do anything about it, even hardly avoid it; but ya could at least know 'n prepare some fer it when it came. It always came. BOOM!! No stoppin' it. Knowin' was somethin' at least. There was still no blamin' 'r self-pity. Ya jus' played the cards that was dealt ya as best ya could 'n waited fer the next hand. Ya think some on things as the time goes by. "X" was the same, only more of it. There was one "Mother's little innocent" down the hall. Killed a guard. A guard that had a family. Like the guard that came around t yer cell. He didn't talk much, but he had a family. He could tell if you was out in left field 'r somebody what jus' fell through the cracks 'r a bystander. He'd ask ya, now 'n then, if there's somethin' ya might want -- magazines, writin' material. Through the tiny slit in the door, he'd ask that. Pretty decent.
CHAPTER 23
Yer P.O. came up with somethin' that he knew wasn't much 'n turned out t be less. It gotcha outside. The place was a dilapidated, near vacant, ancient apartment house in the slums, fer drug addicts -- kids around nine t eighteen -- run by a priest. There was no furniture, as they'd steal it fer drug money. No beds, tables, chairs, nothin'. If ya was lucky ya got an old thin mattress t throw on the floor. Everything ya had would be stolen instantly. The only table 'n chairs ya saw was in the dinin' room. Some of the kids couldn't even get food t their faces they was in such a bad way. There was always somebody in some stage of withdrawal --screamin' 'n shakin'. This turned out t be a short stay. There was a few things that needed clearin' up on the list, 'n then it was split time. It'd been more'n seven months since you'd last walked by the large laundry window, 'n now she slowly raised her head, eyes gettin' wide 'n lit up along with a big
smile, 'n she started t cut loose 'n run outside but caught herself, bitin' her lower lip, lowerin' her head down. Her head came up again, 'n we looked at each other fer a moment. She knew, understood, the gulf that separated. Even from talkin' friends. The window came t an end, but not yer perplexity about not understandin' whatcha understood. There'd never been any doubt, question, 'r even considerin' the possibility of it not still bein' there. Another moment 'n you'd passed the Pizza house; a small, satisfyin' smile came out. Another couple minutes 'n ya walked inta the back door 'n was standin' in the kitchen lookin' at the very contrite 'n apologetic o1' gal, wringin' her hands. She apologized, wringin' her hands t death, 'n "Oh my God'd" fer a moment without sayin' anything. When there was a brief pause in her penitence, ya slipped it in: "You coulda showed up at the trial 'n mentioned it." Surprised, but now that it was out, she started in on the excuses. "But we would have lost our license. And there are so many expenses." You broke in 'n continued, "College, clothes, medical, car payments, repairs, 'n insurance." Her disgustin', patronizin', "Oh it's so good you understand," was nauseatin'. Calmly lookin' at her, "How many other times has it happened before?" Shocked, but caught, she said, "Oh, not too many." "How many?" Forcin' the issue. She, evasively 'n very low, "Five or six times," changin' t a pleadin', "You won't mention anything?" 'n then t a desperate tryin' t convince ya, "Oh, we got rid of it, and
we make him take his medicine all the time. He's learned his lesson." He was sittin' like a poutin', scolded, 'n chastised child, in the shadows of the darkened living room. She cringed out, "Oh, it was so horrible! So horrible! He never got hurt like this before. You should see his face. He hides in the dark all the time." Well, you'd put two 'n two together 'n had yer suspicions verified. The clues had been there, 'n you'd recognized 'em 'n kept up yer guard, almost always. Even out here it's all the time. In a nutshell, he was an exploder. His past employers had known it; his wife 'n kid had known it; but, besides that, they'd managed t keep it a secret. He'd come unglued with other kids in the past, 'n they'd got sent back 'n had it put on their records as kids with violent behavior. The o1' man had kept a baseball bat handy, by his reclinin' chair in the always dark living room, that he said he'd, "use on burglars and anybody else." If he'd a-hit ya square on the head with that thing 'n not a glancin' blow that'd connected with yer shoulders also, he'd a-killed ya fer sure; but it was dark that night. Sure smarted jus' the same. Some months before it calmed down a bit. Yes, sir, the baseball bat's got the fist, belt, switch, ruler, dictionary, 'n even the plank all beat by a country mile as an effective, therapeutic, educational tool. Right up there with the club. A fella can only take so much education before learnin's not much fun anymore. The o1' man got up from his chair 'n walked by ya t go inta his bedroom. Whatever had happened durin' that one desperate, twistin' fling, as stunned 'n out of it as
ya were, t rid yerself of the attacker that night seven months ago, it had left a mark. The whole side of his face was still purple 'n yellow mixed with dark brown clots 'n patches. She kept repeatin', "Oh, it's so much better now than it was. It was so horrible for months," 'n pleadin', "You won't mention anything?" Not even lookin' at her 'n continuin' again, "There's the expenses: college, clothes, car payments, insurance ..." Then her whinin' patronizin' started up again, "Oh, you're such a nice boy," 'n continued with absent mutterin's that faded, as ya left her alone in the kitchen, t more patronizin', "Oh, he's such a nice boy," as she earnestly addressed a bare wall 'n pleaded her case t old dented pots 'n pans 'n greasy stains blotchin' an old stove. Stan was glad t see ya when ya went inta the bedroom. He could only spend a few moments talkin' as he hadda get t work. Still had his job. Doin' good in school, too. Doug was handy, 'n so ya motioned fer him t follow, "Need some help." We passed the o1' lady on the way out with her pleadin', still goin' strong, "You're such a nice boy." A fella could get sick of jus' listenin' t how some used words. The inventor of the word woulda probably kept his mouth shut if he'd a-seen what it'd eventually be used for. After a few minutes walkin' outside, we made a stop on the way. Doug let out a surprised, "Holy Shit!! So this is where the stuff was." Motionin' t him, "Ya want a jug?" It set him back. Doug, the kid who'd drink anything, shrieked, "Fuck!! You gotta be kidding. That stuff is so hot! Everybody's been looking for it. They even gave us the
once over, a bunch of times. It's worth your hide to even think you know something about it." Lookin' at him, "Wanna tag along?" A quick, "Where?" Smilin', "It'll be interestin'!" With a what the heck look, "Sure." We each grabbed a jug 'n walked up t the Police department. We walked in 'n went down the corridor t the detectives' office. The same two detectives were in the next room, door half-open, talkin' with someone. A quick nod 'n ya put the jugs on the outside office desk in front of an officer who didn't let anythin' out more'n a smilin' grin. Quietly slippin' the officer a piece of paper, as Doug was really gettin' nervous, 'n mentionin' t the officer, "There's only a few more, but the gentlemen in the next room might be interested in this," the officer glanced down at the short note, 'n a bigger smile came over his face. With a noddin' part, we left. There was no more business left in this town. On yer way outta town, ya paused 'n thought fer a moment. The police car would have already arrived at Donnie's house, 'n the two detectives would have walked up the path t the door, glanced sideways 'n smiled, climbed the porch, knocked on the door, 'n been met by the wife; then the husband would have been summoned, 'n all the kids would come a-runnin' (as it would be a time when they would all be home). The police detectives would have requested t look around, probably had papers, warrants; 'n now they would all be walkin', surprised, towards an old, faded, 'n weathered cardboard box, "measurin' about two feet high 'n wide, a little longer." The box had once contained paper napkins delivered t the Pizza house, address still visible, though faded. The box
was still sittin' exactly where it had been placed seven months ago in their, "cluttered, unkept, unmowed front lawn," by the hedge. Seven months of weeds around it. Seven months of nothin' -- save slugs, beetles, spiders, worms 'n a few remainin' frustrated whitish yellow plant shoots underneath. A box they would have seen everyday, often numerous times. A box that would not have aroused much attention in all the clutter. Now, as the detectives lifted up the floppy lid, they would all be lookin' at the box in different ways as the contents were revealed. The wife would smile a satisfyin' smile that she would find herself smilin', now 'n again, as the years passed by. The husband would be furious but unable t do anything more than stand there grittin' his teeth 'n tastin', relivin', once again, the bitter gall of havin' been recently caught in suspicions, accusations of insurance fraud. The officers would be "smart 'n streetwise", but it would be their politeness 'n courtesy that would stick in his craw, as they would point t the four 'r five bottles of inexpensive wine, twenty bucks, no more; 'n the original $1,800 claim would be brought up, papers, verbally 'r implied, no difference, t goad even deeper. The kids would, gleefully, help the officers carry the wine jugs out t the police car t be held as evidence. He'd be sweatin' the questions comin' up when he'd have t go down t the police station t sign more statements. Wouldn't even get t drink the wine, at least not yet. Probably never want t drink that wine, 'r that brand --ever. Police might open a new case, as accusations had now turned t fact. Insurance would press it. More sweatin'. Course the police wouldn't need that o1' box; jus' leave it there where
it'd been a-settin' all these months. They'd all watch 'n look at that o1' box; all a-lookin' at it, but differently. Wonder how long that o1' box'll set there a-thrillin', pleasin', 'r goadin'? Probably every time the o1' man sees a box, any box, not jus' a napkin box, 'r a box in his own yard, it'll be a-gougin' 'n ranklin' him. Bein' the kinda guy he is, small, he'd be lookin' fer reasons, excuses, vengeance, self-pity, not bein' able t lay it t rest, 'n it'd eat him up, gnawin' through his innards like worms with big teeth that never rest. If worse got t worse, she 'n the kids could again run the Pizza house nicely -it'd always been better when he wasn't around 'r bein' a drunken sot, stumblin' inta 'n frettin' diners -- while the o1' man was up river, servin time, grittin' his teeth, worms aeatin' him up. She was a good woman, Angelina. She jus' didn't deserve all them beatin's. We do what we can do! Hey, 'n good luck, wherever ya are!!
CHAPTER 24
This was gettin' t be a pretty no-win game. Anyway, stayin' away from crazies was added t yer list, but, like alcohol, somebody's gonna throw it in the punch, unawares. BAM! Defenses down; they gotcha! It was time fer a rest. A break! The miles ticked off; the hundreds turned inta a thousand, 'n soon they were well on their way towards two thousand. The Pacific Northwest. Air was clean 'n cool. The forests were green 'n tall. There was a freedom about. This was a place that needed investigation. Years ago you'd been here once. Once t see some old folks. Quiet folks. Calm folks. They were still here, along with the calm. Time passed, free of expectations. There wasn't any future. There never had been. You jus' go on till yer old, if yer lucky, servin' yer time. No, all there was was right now: a cold, bitin' wind off high snow covered mountains that had daily breathed life inta ya, as ya stepped outta the wet,
green forest onta a mountain meadow, near covered with wild flowers, strawberries, 'n little critters --all repairin' the damage 'n straightenin' out yer inside things. There wasn't no bitterness, never had been; only a tiredness that was hard in passin'. All the details of days, weeks,'n months of wanderin' 'n ponderin' -- through forests, streams, pure crisp air -- 'n gettin' acquainted with new plants, critters, 'n ideas that were involved in creatin' a new creature wouldn't do nobody no good, 'cause there'd be them, climbin' out from under some rock, that would somehow wanna forbid the worship of pure things 'n prohibit 'em. Best t be mended 'n healed silently while there's still a cure. Half expectin' it, but not wastin' any energy lookin' fer it, ya knew the time would come. Yer P.O. finally dug ya up. A phone call. The old folks didn't deserve the look of worry 'n concern on their faces. These were their quiet years. They should be livin' 'em in peace. This was yer struggle, not theirs. They was old folks, doin' old things, 'n now the old things was comin' t an end, along with the doin' of 'em that kept the old folks goin'. Let 'em keep peacefully doin' them things till the dimmin' 'n fadin'. This was yer concern, this sentence t endure, endure, endure everything they threw atcha. Course, rememberin' the time, not too many years back, when ya couldve jus' kept on walkin'. Thoughts like that seem t hang around 'n pop up now 'n again. Again, only a few miles t the border. Interestin! You've faced the same decision at both
borders now. Who knows, could be better? Maybe? There's that chance. But There's only a few more years of servin' yer time on this sentence left, then freedom, bought fair 'n square. Escape fer good. Soon. Nope! Best t face up t yer "up 'n comin's". A guy sure don't wanna be no bail jumper. Told him you'd look him up when ya got back in town. It was a long goodbye; near two thousand miles of it.
CHAPTER 25
He answered the phone 'n we bandied the issues back 'n forth. "Was there a place open?" "Well, maybe." "Lots of car lots t sleep in." "Well, there might be one." "Well, you run it through, 'n we'll get in touch by phone in a few days." "O.K., O.K. There's one. It's pretty sure." "Sure?" "Yeh, sure. Where can we get together?" "Yer office, half hour." A P.O.'s word was bond. He may not be a very colorful 'r theatrical fellow, in the courtroom 'r out, but there's somethin' t be said about a man that stands by his word. You could always do yer waitin' fer an openin' outside. Not quite ready fer another half-year wait in a concrete cell. The place was the bottom floor of a small apartment house on the main drag of the big city. Again, it was a small room, 3 bunk beds; a place t sleep 'n little more. To some, not even much of that.
A big fat lady ran the place, 'n the scam she was runnin' was a low key, college education fund, medical, 'n clothes fer her small kid; but we did get "new" clothes on account, which meant it was splitzies with the kid. All in all, she was a pretty decent gal. The first chore was automatic, like a mouse sniffin' out a newly found hole: case the place; get the lay of the land. This was always a one swoop, take in everything all at once enterprise. No time fer that one at a time stuff. That's fer people that's got time. Nope, hit the beach runnin'. They taught ya that years ago. Life fer the big gal centered around an utterly spoiled, fat beyond fat kid around seven years old. Wider'n tall. We measured him. She did everything fer him: clothed, tied shoes, fed, even unzipped him 'n held his pecker while he peed. She was pissed t no end his school teacher had him suffer this indignancy himself. There was nothin' wrong with him physically. She was carin' fer him t death. He suffered the worst case of little emperor syndrome yet t hit this earth. She was preparin' him t enter the U.S. Military 'r Naval Academy 'n then t be president of the United States 'n who knows what else after that; perhaps even God, as it seemed near everybody wanted t be r already thought they was! He not only ate it up but believed it, 'n she was more'n willin' t perpetuate his 'n her fantasy. Again, indignant t no end that his school teacher didn't suffer from this idolatry. "What's so unreasonable ...?" "What? Worship him?"
He even tried t get us kids, though unsuccessfully, t do his basic maintenance chores fer him 'n serve him: everything from flippin' his pecker t wipin' his asshole. Somehow, t his 'n her way of thinkin', he was a cut above us riff-raff. You'd noticed it didn't set too well t her way of thinkin' that us little bought 'n paid fers wasn't heavy inta the, "Yes, Massa. Yes, Massa," at the feet of a definite superior bein'. She'd remember stuff like that. Wouldn't say so, but it'd be there addin' up. Maybe soon go trade these off fer others that knowed there place in front of greatness. He was so fat that even she, at times, couldn't even find his pecker. Pee all over hisself 'n not know where it was comin' from. Like he sprung a leak. Down the road a few years, it's gonna be interestin'; around puberty, adolescence. The problem was that he had become so fat 'n helpless that he couldn't hardly get up once he sat down 'r was in bed. His fat, almost unbelievably stubby blobs of arms couldn't reach his pants buttons, even if he could find 'em, which he couldn't fer his outstretched belly that appeared t extend from his ankles t his fourth chin. He looked like an overinflated, toy doll balloon. All in all, yer basic, nauseatin', disgustin', obnoxious little wretch. Yuck! One day, partly comparin' notes 'n partly talkin' about the enjoyment you'd had workin' with animals, Bob, a kid originally in fer placement, like yerself, shared a couple situations, one he wound up in; one that wasn't jus' a few new twists on an old
scam. Appears him 'n his two younger brothers had been placed on a farm, way out, where ya could see fer miles 'n miles of nothin' -- an important feature. This appeared, at first, t be no more'n a real economy package; skin of yer teeth operation. An efficient, up front, no games set up. Now, Bob, bein' a veteran of three 'r four homes, level headed, 'n a sensible sort, tryin' t hang in school, spoke fairly straight. So, when he, a kid who knows the ropes pretty well, came up seriously perplexed with a, "Too much. They just knew too much," 'n a whole bunch of other too many "toos", ya reached inta yer back jeans pocket fer a small scrap of paper 'n stub of pencil t get it outlined out. There was somethin' in that look that sent an alarm goin' off in yer head. Better get this down. Even then he couldn't understand much of what had gone on: 'Ceptin' he'd had a "feelin'", a "feelin'" that comes from listenin' hard 'n long. A "feelin'" that gave him the willies; that him 'n his brothers were up against somethin' more'n yer typical rip-off. They felt helplessly bein' swept along by somethin'. He looked over, "You don't say much, but you read a lot 'n are the smartest kid I've ever come across. See what you can make of this." And, that's how it will be presented here -- this account, this tale. "See what you can make of this." The setting, as mentioned earlier, was "way out". The house that the family and their two small children lived in was a sturdy two-story on the top of a rolling hill.
From this vantage point, one could see for miles in any direction. An approaching vehicle could be spotted a half-hour away, and there were no neighbors within that distance. Located somewhat down from the house, in a depression, and not being visible from the main road, was a quite run down and very old barn, in considerable need of repair. The distance between the two structures was roughly fifty yards. There you have a rudimentary, but adequate sketch of the stage where our (peculiar?) drama takes place. Upon arrival, Bob and his brothers were shown their rooms in the large and spacious house and given a tour of everything else by the couple's two children. This tour included the ancient, almost in total ruins, barn. The barn was even ricketier upon inspection: cracks, planks missing, door ajar, visible sunlight through the roof, broken stalls, and shaky loft. It was strewn with debris, straw, and animal droppings from mice, rats, rabbits, and livestock. The smell was typical of barns. To boys, who hadn't lived on farms before, there was the excitement of exploration into nooks, under planks, boxes, old machinery, and piles of unidentifiable "stuff." Needless to say, the boys were somewhat excited upon the prospects of further investigation into this treasure trove of discovery. During this tour, their P.O. was going through whatever formalities, legal chitchat, and assurances that were necessary, while awaiting the boys return to receive their
impression as to whether they could feel comfortable here. The excitement of the barn still evident, a very friendly, wholesome atmosphere pervaded their midst. Thus, leaving in such good spirits of accomplishment, a perfect match, the P.O. departed. Within the hour the boys were informed of a few minor matters that, apparently, had been overlooked in the bustle of getting settled in for the first time in a new home. The nonchalance, calmness, and matter-of-fact nature with which the family and their children went about introducing these "trivialities" led the boys into bewildering acceptance of them. The nature of these "hardly mentionable", of moot concern, slight changes was as follows: The house was entirely off-limits -- at all times, for any reason -- to them, except when visitors or the P.O. showed up. They were to sleep, eat, and take care of all necessary bodily functions in the barn. Sitting on some straw in the barn, the exact nature of what they were in for had not entirely set in, as their minds were still somewhat taken by the whirlwind activities of the day. It wasn't until the chill of the late afternoon had set in good, and they were quite numb, that they received their bedding -- one blanket between them all, for which they were exceedingly grateful and thankful to no end. Later that evening -- and it was only after hunger had likewise set in good -- they were presented with supper -- one bucket with food in the bottom (needless to say for which they were likewise extremely thankful). "Who knows?" still caught up in the adventure, asking themselves, "Perhaps
this is how people live on farms?" As time passed they were introduced into the pattern of farm life. There were chores, all quite new; but as the boys were adapting very well to healthful country living, they readily picked up the necessary skills to master the chores. They soon learned that, somehow, the amount of food in the bottom of the bucket they received at mealtime was related to the amount of work they had accomplished. Mathmetically speaking, more work equals more food. The inverse likewise applied: less work equaled less food. They also soon realized that any complaining and grumblings made the blanket disappear; and, on the rare occasions of visitors -- almost always a very quick stop by their P.O. -- when they whisked themselves, before the arrival of the visitor, clean and spotless in their best clothes, up to the house to sit at a handsomely prepared banquet, of which they were not permitted to partake, any grumblings or the least sign of dissatisfaction on these occasions and the food would diminish appreciably in the bucket, taking considerable days of hard work to get it back up to its previous level. The couple always addressed the boys very calmly and rationally with the utmost concern for their care, happiness, and welfare, with what Bob later described as an almost exaggerated, "Can something possibly be wrong, boys?" and an infinite knowledge of dealing with every aspect of how a fellow thought, acted, reacted, or to
get them to do anything willingly. "Too much. They knew how to control you too much. Too much." The boys played with the couple's children, who likewise showed no signs of anything unusual about the whole situation. Everything was as it should be. As Bob later expressed: He worked hard, slept well, complained little, and generally accepted the way things were, thinking it was right and the way things should be. Their departure was wholly instigated due to the "feeling" of Bob's that they were up against something that left them feeling swept along helplessly. They walked the long distance out one night and hitched a ride. Thus ended the account. Now that Bob is gone, one realizes there were many questions that were not asked or points covered that now take on increased importance. At the time, important ones were not covered. For example: There is a recollection that it occurred out of state; but the physical and legal improbabilities of that are considerable, due to the unlikelihood of transferring juvenile wards of the court from one county or state to another, unless there were legal custodians involved. Nonetheless, the recollection is there. The same recollection identifies the P.O. as a woman. To your question out there of did they attend school is a weak maybe. How long were they there? Half a year -- more or less. Where did they hitch a ride to? Relatives or friends seems to sound reasonable. Did the boys ever contact authorities
on the matter? Strange! What matter? It appeared to be made normal to them. Good, wholesome, working with the soil and sweat; country living is known to be different than crowded, congested city living. Common knowledge. Besides, Bob and his brothers had, like the rest of us, learned long ago that it didn't do any good for any of us kids to go to any authorities for any reason. Then there are the interesting points to consider. With more than adequate room available in the house, why the barn? The blanket? Ah, yes, the blanket! Where were you on such and such a night, blanket? An interesting tale indeed it might weave if it could talk! But, just maybe .The bucket? Methinks it speaks "too much", "too loudly", "too deep". It appears a dark path indeed, nor does it bode well for the faint heart to consider the treading of it. The couple with "too many" right ways to control "too smoothly". Do we have enough at hand to dare venture a motive? Look! There is one! Here another! Gag! They climb from under rocks, out of cracks; from the heavens they fall! To one it is this; to another it is that! Zounds! The world is full of motives. They fall in stacks and lie in heaps! To the right! To the wrong! To the good! To the bad! It's good to know, at least, that there's nothing more to the motives than good or bad, right or wrong! Ahhh hah! What's this? One lies apart, to the side! Quick! Pry it apart. Expose the blasphemer!` Who is he who dares challenge the right and wrong? Nay, even the good and bad! What's this? "Something else." What for God's sake is,
"Something else"? Who cast that vote? That single ballot. Which one of you out there? You're an ASS!! Hang them or set them free!! Quick! Grab him! What kind of game is this you play? Oops! Sorry! Guess we did throw this puzzle in your laps; ask you to, "See what you think of this?" Anyway, the total effect of the whole experience upon Bob was summarized nicely after this accounting, "A little country living is O.K. -Once!! Not really cut out for it." His next account is not personal, but one he received from another boy in a different situation. The incident is hardly of any significance and is more of a common nature; hardly more than one of recording details. Totally lacking interest. It appears the lad, along with others, around eight or more, if memory serves, found himself in a situation where the couple was teaching wayward youths a trade. Laying carpets, to be exact. How giving of themselves! Full of concern and goodness! Well, the lad soon found himself choking and gagging on all this concern and goodness, to the tune of all day long, six days a week, laying carpets. Nor was he the only one, but as the others stated, "They buy you clothes, food, and you don't have to go to school. It's better than being locked up in Juvie." It was good that the lads were appreciative of the value of not having to go to school, to learn. One would surely not wish to find oneself in such a situation where you knew, as opposed to one more convenient where you didn't have to know, that the
county provided a clothing allowance and commodities and substantially more funds for food than even the most gluttonous adolescent could consume. Nor did they have to know that the carpet company couple did not have to pay its workers under this apprenticeship program. In fact, here again, the workers were paying them for the privilege to work for them, through county funds. Also they really didn't have to know that those picky, untidy, bothersome nuisances -- like income tax, social security, and insurance premiums -- were entirely avoided. Messy! Messy! One hardly had to look to the country to find the bumpkin -- or the turkey -- that has wandered off the farm. It seems the big city had an ample supply. Of course, you really don't have to know this. The conclusion of Bob's account of this from his friend was that, with a passion, they all hated laying carpets. A sure sign they will enter the profession. You may have noticed the insertion of a more polished but stilted, inarticulate vernacular for this last section (Who speaks like that?), as opposed to the usual coarse, but more accurate, colloquial. This is partly due to the necessity to distinguish the recording of secondhand impersonalities; a more expected and acceptable "front line", "on the spot" approach (at least in this book it is); and partly to assuage and pacify the erudite rabble that there are, at least, token efforts being made at certain laws of diction and that they (the said rabble) are not subject to, in the hands of, or being led around by
the nose by a babbling incoherent --which is probably the case anyway; and lastly, to fulfill the basic, primal urge of the mouse to toy with the cat! The school was all black, a few sprinklin's of Asians 'n whites, 'n was supposed t be the toughest 'n worst of all the inner city schools. Didn't quite turn out that way, though it could've. If ya was a struttin' Pachuco type, you'd wind up hamburger, 'r if ya wanted trouble -- hadda have it -- hey, right there! But, if ya didn't go lookin' fer it, it never seemed t find ya. With so many poor folks, there's bound t be some frustration; but in all these poor kids, there was a helluva lot of 'em doin' their damnedest t take advantage of gettin' an education 'n escapin' the mess most of their lives was in. There was a lotta good students here -- poor, but good; more'n you'd likely see in other schools. Affluence ain't everything, 'specially if the rat's figured out a way of escapin'. Nobody bothered ya if ya wanted t read 'n study hard. They had respect fer those that was tryin'. They also had a respect fer sports; 'n when you entered the gymnastics program 'n started workin' out on the rings, parallels, high bar, 'n mats, this turned out t be the calmest 'n best school you'd ever attended; 'specially when ya found out there was another ONE out there. We struck it right off. He was small, slim, very quiet, liked t read -- a lot -- an excellent student, but tried not t let school interfere with his own personal goals 'n education. He was also in the gymnastics program only for his own personal challenge
within himself, not carin' t beat 'r compete with others. When the coach saw ya workin' out furiously, fer no other reason but fer somethin' inside that drove ya, he moaned, "Good God! Another one! It's not possible! And they're both damned good gymnasts!" He was easy goin' 'n chucked it off t fate 'n went along with it anyway. Said he "understood it" like he was tryin' t "understand anything" what was goin' on in this zoo he'd been transferred too by the school district. We consoled him now 'n again. Sweatin' helps. At times when we was talkin', the other ONE, it was like havin' a conversation with yerself. Like if ya got two people who read everything they could get their hands on, their ideas was bound t bump inta each other, as there's only so many books available that any given two people can get their hands on. We never hadda talk much about "what" books we'd read; you'd know 'em by the meat of our conversations. It's confusin' fer sure. But not gonna even try t explain it. That jus' appears t be the way it works out. Newton's Gravity 'n that. Hand in hand. Why, we was so close we coulda near changed places. Him bein' thinner 'n smaller woulda brought some attention; 'n him bein' Jewish would be hard t get around -- that religion thing's always a stickler; course him bein' black. Think parents woulda noticed a thing like that? The religion, yes! Maybe they could write the color off t a hormone change. Some real surprises in puberty 'n adolescence! Talk t 'em. Explain it.
If they're sensible at all, they'll understand. Understandin' parents; can't beat 'em. Yes, sir, ya open yer mouth 'n that's you. Hard t change that. Probably be easier all round, on the parents that is, if we jus' changed skins. Anyway ya looked at it, it'd be interestin'. You'd get a family; he'd get a curse. But, he'd get a chance t test the mettle of his Beast within -- if he had one?! The kid had dignity. Not like he practiced havin' dignity, but somethin' ya come across naturally. Maybe even like a dignity thing inside. Doctor'd look in 'n say, "Yep, there it is. He's got a dignity thing in there for sure." Though he was thin 'n small he stood near nine feet tall. Ask any kid: "Hey kid?" "Nine feet tall, easy." There seemed t be a bunch of kids studyin', strugglin', reachin' fer their own personal goals 'n dignity. Not quite nine feet tall yet, but a-growin'. That was the time it was 'n that was the place. Good things comin' up. Future lookin' better. Can't be too bad when ya get all these kids readin', thinkin', 'n wantin' t make this a better world. Seein' 'n understandin' don't necessarily live in the same neighborhood. A fella can't see everything all at once, 'r things that have been 'r shall be. If ya could, understandin' would come some easier. So yer left with the elements of ponderin' t work with: the "Could be"; "Maybe"; "Sorta"; 'n all the necessary danglin'
uncertainties that help pry open lines 'n read between 'em 'r shut 'em up so tight, beyond fathomin'.
First ya have t look a spell further than what a teacher does 'n a student does; 'n even further'n (in what direction is hard t say) what a teacher's supposed t do 'n what a student's supposed t do. Them's traps, dead ends. A fella'd do well t steer clear of folks that was a-throwin' out answers t questions that don't exist; 'n trainin' people t study these answers. A whole new field of study: t get out 'n teach t real problems with answers t non-existent problems, 'n not t the ones at hand. Sounds like fraud 'n bunko artists at work. Beware of them that have answers too pat, too rehearsed, too well-known, too well-studied. Could mislead a fella inta thinkin' he knows a thing 'r two. Confusion time again! This one took some unravelin', fer sure; 'n as it stands right now, it ain't no more'n a "Could be"; "Maybe"; "Sorta". See if ya can get the picture, idea, the gist, 'r anything outta this. If ya can't, then yer not the only one confused. Here's a big high school. No, that don't quite do it! Let's start again. Here's a BIG, BAD, INNER CITY HIGH SCHOOL. You, dear reader, dont wanna work here. Yet there are kids here that wanna learn. So the powers that be send down teachers, so qualified that they can't function in their starched cerebrals, ever at the ready with their pat answers t non-existent problems. Yet they plod on, noble sorts that they are, in their inefficient ways; 'n the harder they try, the more inefficient they become, until they are sweatin' their asses off reachin' new heights 'n levels of inefficiency hitherto unknown. They are tryin' so hard now that even the most persistent, determined child
must crumble in despair 'n frustration under this hellish onslaught of inefficient goodness 'n seek refuge on the streets 'n in the alleys fer a breath from the lesser (?) of the two insanities. Don't give up, we're gettin' there. Well, such is almost the case here; but due t the pressure t escape the real mess they're in, the students here manifest heroic determination, even beyond the most devout, fanatical, pursuers of goodness. Don't give up! Almost there! Gotta tell ya these things t keep ya readin'. Nobody's gonna buy anymore punishment than they hafta, 'n if there's a better way t get educated, don'tcha think those that want it will seek it? The students here, with one accord, all tried t get specific classes with a few specific teachers. One particularly. Why? Well, it's a year later 'n it's still elusive. May take years of seein' on this one before any understandin' drifts by. You try. Granted, this first one is some unlikely, but try 'n see beyond yer way of thinkin' 'n see what thousands of students saw as their #1 choice. He was small, frail, 'n a very effiminate, white, gay, art teacher. You still with us out there in White Anglo Saxon Protestant, Apple Pie, John Wayne, From the Halls of Montezuma to the Shores of Tripoli land, on the #1 choice in our BIG, BAD INNER CITY HIGH SCHOOL think tank? The next was a little, skinny, white typing teacher. Them's the basic facts. Why? Subjects? Yes! No! Yes, the subjects were not a critical factor, 'n no, the teachers coulda taught any subject and students woulda still flocked. The efficiency with which
they taught rested not in their presentation of their subject matter. Ferget yer readin' this stuff. It ain't worth clutterin' yer mind up with. As it stands now, seein' things studentwise, it narrows down t a throw of the dice against the odds, stacked heavy by the house against the players. The odds against that guy ever makin' it, in our society, in teachin' are something t consider. Course, inner city, they need teachers desperately; though the administration was constantly tryin' t replace him. Shame the kids didn't have any say! But, the odds rise even higher when ya consider the chance of a nonlecturer 'n non-authoritarian-- a rare breed -- landin' in a highly structured,
authoritarian system, with enough balls (Sounds kinda cute here, huh?) t let the students create greatness within themselves; without the need of others (teachers). The gal was of the same bent, only showin' that through yer self-discipline you could achieve whatcha wished, independent of others. The point in question, ponderin'-wise, wasn't that the guy was gay, 'r that she was some outspoken fer a woman, a little one at that, but in givin' the kids them keys. They wouldn'ta had no hasslin' from the administration if they hadn'tve given them kids the keys t self-dignity, self-determination, 'n above all, self-learnin'. Herein lay their efficiency t yer way of thinkin', anyway. These were skills that a fella could transfer t any subject 'n teach himself. Sound educational philosophy. 100% administration approved -- ON PAPER: but fer real -- no way!! No! The subjects were
jus' a ruse, a guise. Whether these two really knew exactly what they were doin' 'r thought it was their sweet personalities, we'll never know. Suppose the thought of an underground education system, manned with ghosts, wouldn't set too well with administrators, teachers, 'r unions. There's still no answers, but there's a couple bottom lines t think about. One, if any kid 'r hood woulda hassled the art teacher, he would only have done it once 'r would wind up floatin' down main street in the dry season. Two: What would an educational system be like loaded with these two teachin' "self-dignity, self-determination, 'n above all self-learning?" Well, this last one's a fool's pipe dream; not in our society, not in our time, perhaps not in our world. "If change happened, we was never t experience any in the Public School System." Hey! There it is again Oh! Remember the Math 'n Drafting teacher? Well he showed up here, still overworked, underpaid, but the kids liked him, bein' a down t earth kinda guy. When he wasn't workin' at school, he was pumpin' gas 'r somethin' t keep his family goin'. Which brings up jobs seekin' ya out 'n still havin' t beat 'em off with a stick. Already ya was hustlin' dogs 'n cokes, inside at the city's two big stadiums, fer games 'n fights 'n workin' at a large county hospital; 'n then he pops up 'n asks, "How'd you like to make a few bucks fry cooking outside the stadiums during games and fights?". Sounded good. Like the man said, "If you're willing to work, they'll beat a path to your
door." (Who said that?). Enter Larry's, no name, hamburger stand. First stab at real cuisine. No joke! This establishment was run by Larry, teachers, bar flies, 'n college students settin' up, cookin', servin', 'n takin' down -- all performin' like a circus, before 'n after games 'n fights (except fights before, but no after servin') at the two large stadiums. How ya wound up as cook at this madhouse arena is beyond comprehendin', but after they'd seen ya work -- permanent job. Rapid service with food so good kept 'em comin' back. Larry'd calculate how many was gonna be at any given big event, 'n we'd go from there. Oh, there was competition, fer sure, from all the other stalls, but the sheer, luscious quality of his burgers raised him t king. He was an artist at movin' burgers, dogs, 'n beers. Record was made that'll rest untouched ferever. Ferever? Yep! Ferever!! "How do you know about forever?" ya ask. 'Cause you was there fer the big one, 'n you'd done all the cookin'. Over 1,200 Burgers 'n 900 dogs in one game; beginnin' 'n endin' only. Hour, hour 'n a half -- tops -- servin' time! With three-quarters of the business bein' done while they was goin' inta the stadium, that puts it at a burger every 3 seconds 'r a burger 'r dog every 1.69 seconds; 'n you thought E=MC was a mystery -One burger every 3 seconds. We're talkin' scripture! Holy writ, here! "Thus saith." And that doesn't even include Pastramis!! A little reverence 'n awe are in order here, don'tcha think? Some good, healthy obeisance 'n grovellin' at feet wouldn't be too much
2
t ask, now, would it? Lower! That's it! A bit lower would do nicely. Larry said he didn't think it was possible t sling so much food in such a short time; like somethin' Churchill woulda said. Not only that, we're talkin' quality; again, the likes of which'll not be soon seen. When he goes, that's it, baby. Absolute insanity! That's what it took t run his outfit. The VAT! Ahhhh, herein lies the secret of the universe, the elixir of the gods! They'd come down 'n pose as mortals, not t watch the games, but t get some of Larry's no name stand burgers. The VAT? What was the Vat, ya ask? Where lies the Holy Grail, you'd soon as inquire. How came life upon the earth would be closer. For the VAT was no mere thing, inanimate object. It breathed life; gurgled, belched, 'n spit a rhythm all its own; 'n that breath of life had been ferever. (Well, as long as Larry had been in the Burger business, which was near ferever -- close t it.) It could never be replaced, duplicated, 'r recreated. This stuff was near as old as Larry. It had lived through wars, holocausts, political systems, presidents, 'n statesmen. They all passed, but the VAT lived on; 'n if ya ate one of his burgers ya was partakin' of a lineage, of every known kind, manner, 'n style of burger that ever there was; 'n a piece of the soul of every one of them more'n a million burgers (we calculated it once with Larry), was in that juicy chunk you jus' swallered, near orgasmically. That stuff had roots, baby! In the beginnin' there was the VAT, 'n that was that!! Let's get that clear right now. Most
agreed that, at least, it was the beginnin' of meaningful civilization! We're not talkin' jus' real flavor. We're talkin live flavor! Think about that fer a while. And ya ask, what was the VAT? Well, back before time began, when they really knew how t play baseball, an energizin' sort had an idea after spittin' out a sawdusty mouthful of a flat, dry, cardboardy burger. He stirred up a broth 'n nestled the near cooked burgers in this broth t soak up the goodies t be delivered t the customers. It worked so well 'n the broth was so good, he kept usin' it over 'n over again, not wantin' t lose that "jus' right" flavor that existed only in one place on earth. Course, he hadda add t it as time went by, but each burger purrin' in the broth would contribute little bits t keep it goin'. There was them -- them what knowed, after listenin' t the purrin', declared that them was whole new frequencies: "Talking to someone. Not here on earth, that's for sure." The addin' on was a master craftsman's skill, years in the perfection; 'n ya ask, "What was the VAT?" As an apprentice VATSTER, you was expected t carry on the tradition accordin' t, "Thus saith." It was by no means an obligation 'n responsibility taken lightly. It knew!! No messin' around with the VAT. Ya kept it happy! Soon you'd get the idea, by it's rhythm 'n the way it sloshed around, if it was happy; 'n you'd know if ya was feedin' it right. Ya really hadda be selective. Ya couldn't jus' go about, purposeful, with jars 'n cans of store bought makin's; hadda be genuine bits 'n chunks
of scraps lyin' round. It thrived on these wide 'n varied snacks; grew strong. So you'd keep yer eye open, 'n if ya spotted somethin', a lone tidbit stickin' t the side of a pot 'r bowl, 'r jus' cast aside, somethin' you'd think it'd like -- plop -- in it went. Kept things tidy around the shop, wouldn'tcha know. So it survived, gurglin' 'n hissin'. At the end of each game, the simmered down juices that was left -- the heart, mamma-soul, meat of the creature was put in the Pastrami water boiler pot 'n kept hot 'r frozen till the next game. Then it was the starter fer the new burgers bein' made. The VAT, two by three feet, by six inches tall, housed the stacks of near cooked apprentice burgers (they was still mortal until they'd absorbed the essence of each 'n every one of their million ancestors) a-waitin' their turn t be cradled inta buns, carefully made up with gobs of crisp lettuce, tomatoes, 'n pickles. Juicy, ya ask? Aye laddie, don't be a-askin' such questions. Use yer imagination! 'Cause, if you've never tasted one, yer imagination's the closest thing ye'll ever get t 'em. The flavor's nowhere else t be found. Not on the high road nor the low. Even as ya stood there, watchin 'n observin' the finished product belchin', burpin', squirmin', 'n gurglin' with a pulsin' rhythm all its own, jus' didn't do credit t the describin' of it. No justice. Mere words. Ya gotta say it right: Splattered, squished, 'n squirted all over the windshield, clothes, park bench, pigeons, neighbor's cat; dating couples really loved 'em -- lookin', searchin', wipin', rubbin', 'n pawin' in all them, hard t get t, right places.
Double checkin', jus' t make sure. Folks'd see them stains 'n turn green with envy. A status symbol.. Strut by 'n there'd be whispers, "OOOOOO, look! He took the pilgrimage to Larry's no name burger stand," 'r "Shiiit! The boss made me work, for double time this weekend. That's dirty pool. Union'll hear about this!" Nope, it wasn't who played at the game, but who went t Larry's. When all the folks had wandered inta the huge stadium t watch the game, ya had a break till the game was over, 'n they'd all come back out again 'n grab a burger t munch 'n slurp on their way home. Durin' this break there was creations designed that'd warm the heart of any burger officianado: double, triple, 'n quadruple deckers were the order of the day. Some musta housed a half-quart of soul that was the juicy, stewy broth the burgers bathed in. A fella could think clearly after one of these; what life was all about. That slurpy goodness would be there fer hours, even days after; some said longer. A quadruple decker would give ya "Special Insight". Course, these was only fer the most devout. We'd only set up t serve the folks when they went in if there was a championship fight t be held in the stadium, 'specially if it involved some favorite Mexican. Sometimes more'n a hundred bus loads of 'em would come pilin' in from over the border. Tequila flowed free, 'n if their champion lost, it flowed freer. Fights 'n brawls, ya never seen the like -- broken bottles, knives, even machetes; all fueled by
hate 'n tequila. Win 'r lose, this was no place fer free enterprise. So, as soon as they went in t watch, we shut up fast 'n hoped the shut-up stall would still be there come mornin'. They'd tear up everything. Featherweight bouts was the worst. On t more
jobs followin, ya around. Remember the hospital? There was the Italian kid, near the only one in the school -- top student, on his way t law school next year --who took a liking t ya. The kid was sharp 'n mellow. No nonsense. He knew where he was goin'. Didn't have much money t get there, but what he had he got honestly, workin in a large county hospital. So when an openin' came up, he said, "There's an opening for a dependable, hard working student. You start tomorrow. O.K.!" That wasn't no question, so no answer was expected. Like dealin with the Don. That night ya went down 'n filled out the county forms. One more Italian on yer pathArchimedes, Galileo, da Vinci, Michelangelo, Machiavelligivin ya a hand. The hospital was large, five floors. Like all large county hospitals, it was always fulla sick, broken, aged, comin' 'n goin' folks; all needin' special foods, near each one. Yer job was with the dietary department, deliverin t each one their special supper every afternoon. Fer two hours it was fast 'n furious, 'n ya hadda be accurate. There was things worth learnin' here. Most of yer life had been spent with the young 'n physically sound; now it was
time t look inta the old, broken, diseased, 'n banged up. What a laboratory! They all talked; 'n the older they was the more important the things was they wanted ya t know. To some this was their last fling at passin' somethin' important t them on; what it was all about, 'n you was their last student. Now talk ain't jus' all talk, lest it's comin' from most of the young 'n middle aged folks ya was familiar with. When these old folks talked, it was worth the listenin' 'cause they had somethin' t say 'n years, decades, 'n scores t ponder the sayin' of it. As time went by, loneliness, depression, 'n trapped seeped outta their bright but aged eyes. Some was confused 'n desperate as any trapped rat in a cage. Yes, sir, the rat was in there, seekin' freedom. The look's the same, whether the eyes plead from a cage, cell, 'r confinement in an aged, no longer functionin' body. There was loneliness. You was familiar with loneliness, but it was the young, fresh loneliness of indifference 'n devil-may-care. Theirs was an old, forsaken, tired loneliness, rooted in a thousand battles with depression that ate 'n destroyed sure as any cancerous tumor, winnin' out in the end. When they put their hands upon yer arm, ya saw the plow marks 'n saw 'n felt the tiny, still firm muscles of years of twistin' cannin' jars, scrubbin' 'n wringin' clothes, choppin' wood, 'n hoein' at a garden. Hands that had delivered a baby in a sod 'r log cabin; alone the hands had done it. Hands that had dug the grave of a child, friend, a
husband, now rested on yer arm. Hands that had worked t "make do" in long past, almost fergotten, harsher times of want 'n privation 'n hope. Times that had awakened 'n uncaged the slumberin' spirit; freein' it t struggle 'n meet any adversary --Grinnin'! Now that spirit was trapped, but the hands was there, at the ready, jus' in case. Yes, sir, the hands can say a thing 'r two. There was more at stake here than, "Howdy, ma'am;" "Hope yer feelin' better, ma'am;" "Bye, ma'am." Token charity 'n hospitality rings tinny 'n hollow. You don't think they know? Lookit them hands. Them hands know! A guy'd be a fool t act like one. Strategy time again brought out a line of approach. The objective was t get at the thousands of man years of knowledge that was wrapped up in these old, discarded carcasses. Hey! A few wrinkles, years, stiffness, 'n it's all over. Down the tubes! Throw away objects! Disposable society! You laugh. You think you ain't gonna wrinkle? Hah!! Shrivel up like an old, dried prune, fer sure, ya will. Jeeze! Some people! Anyway, a fella could learn what he could before they got the last flush. Pump 'em fer all they had before they cashed it in. This was the gist of what strategy time revealed. The details was only details. There was three things t consider. One, you didn't have much time (on the job 'n yer fly by night existence) 'n neither did they. Two, cut the idle chatter. A straight, vulture approach, pickin' the bones, was adapted, due t number one. "Okay, toots! Spill
the beans!" Three, this was low priority 'n was not the main objective (any bleedin' hearts out there, go cry in yer socks), but if objectives #1 'n #2 were met, along with yer well calculated wild guess, then #3 would be accomplished. On t #3. If the spirit of any of these old warriors, veterans who'd endured, was ever gonna rise again, they wasn't gonna be a-doin' it by deception, nor was any help gonna come from this quarter. If there was gonna be any risin', they was gonna hafta do it themselves. This was cold, man! Kick 'em while they're down. Yeah! Observation had revealed that yer "Howdy's" 'n smiles were all superficial. God! Especially those smiles. No lastin' effect, other than negative; nor was any knowledge gained. Therefore, objective #1 was not bein' met. They'll talk, sure, talk t anybody -- teach. But, the way yer figurin' was, if ya wanted 'em t talk fer real, beyond babblin' teachin', ya hadda listen fer real; 'n if ya was gonna listen fer real, ya hadda direct the conversation t whatcha really wanted t know. No idle chatter 'r wanderin' minds, they was pros at that. Nobody's deceivin' nobody here. They had knowledge you wanted -- "Fork it over, ma'am! This is a stick-up!" This was sure a crude way of lookin' at it, but there was valuable resources a-goin' t waste. However ya got it out. Right, Machiavelli? Yes, sir, interrogate 'n grill 'em. They loved it! Even the testy o1' farts. Perked 'em right up. They'd spend their days thinkin', pickin' their minds, cranin', waitin' fer the kid t come by. There was things worth knowin', like: Makin' wooden
plows, tools, log cabins, 'n sod houses; tannin' hides fer clothes 'n shoes; fishin' baits 'n lures'; makin' 'n carin' fer firearms; philosophies 'n ideas; guidelines; rules; animal habits; erosion; natural seeds 'n plants; how the mountains, valleys, streams, 'n lakes looked; spendin' free time; schools 'n home learnin'; cookin'; preservin' foods; frontier medicines; indian philosophies; customs; skills 'n habits t name a few. All these 'n more was revealed, along with the trimmin's. Had 'em all workin' fer ya; jus' waitin' t spit out tidbits not found in any book anywhere. A fella's gotta stretch hisself if he really wants t know. All the while they was takin' themselves back to that log cabin 'r sod house; to friends 'n children; to a husband 'r wife who loved 'em far beyond any love known today. To him she was so beautiful, skilled, useful, needed; to a time of seein' through tired, achin' muscles, a job completed 'n feelin' the joy 'n satisfaction of things; to a time of hot baked bread, expectations, strugglin' together fer little things; to a time of wide open doors 'n friends droppin' in with fresh baked pies 'r sittin' with ya 'r doin' yer chores if ya was ailin' some; home cures, hand shook bargains, 'n a man's word. Stack it up against any time, past, present, 'r future, 'n it'll stand tall, measurin' value fer value. Man's hour may have come 'n passed 'n, as far as they was concerned, most of us had missed it. Yes, sir! A man's word may be humanity's highest achievement! May be the ultimate bond, outlastin' atomic 'n molecular structure, comin' 'n goin' planets, solar
systems, 'n galaxies. The bond immutable! What an epitaph fer any civilization , a mans word! Dear at any price. Dammit that was a good time! There may never be another. Fer them, fer sure. Hell! Let 'em go! Let their spirits fly there 'n let 'em stay. Any other way woulda been worser'n a joke; an intrusion inta things more'n dear. Things left. Only things left. Maybe the only things that ever really mattered 'r existed. Nope! Any other way 'n they wouldn't have been able t cross that line where the present fades 'n the past -- their each, exact, 'n independent past -- lights up 'n becomes the reality that always was. There ain't nothin' happenin' today in their lives that holds a candle t two young people settin' out together, a half-century ago, t take on the world, soarin' free. There wasn't nobody else round here interested in what was bein' lost. Couldn't let that bother ya. No concern of yers. Their loss, yer gain. Hmmmmm! Maybe a tat of corporal punishment, a gentle touch of the thumb screw 'r the rack, woulda done wonders fer an ailin' spirit, don'tcha think? Rise fer sure. "Come on sweetheart, fester up! Come clean! The jig's up. What's the recipe fer baked critter pie? This don't hafta be no deathbed confession. A statement's a statement. Ya can have it either way. Yer choice. We know yer holdin'. What say, Bogart? Shall we snuff the old broad out? Get Lefty t rubber hose her? Hey! Keep that cement wet over there!" In a nutshell, a society that don't value its old is a society that don't value knowledge 'n wisdom.
Knowin' the past'll make the future clearer. The way ya figured it, since we dont live long enough t learn anything, n makin the same mistakes over n over, learnin all this stuff from these ol folks thatd gone on before n been there, put ya about five hundred years old startin out in life, maybe older, n givin ya the edge. Yeh! The thousand year ol boy! Readin' everything included: patients charts hangin' there; X-Rays; diagrams 'n posters on walls 'n in offices; medical records; labels on powerful drugs 'n medicines. Stuff that'd turn their minds t paste, their reasonin' t wet, soggy corn flakes, 'n their words inta glue, was worth watchin' out fer. Also did a lotta readin' 'n seein' what salt, sugar, 'n greasy foods did t ya (Hey! That near covers the whole food group of the Home), 'n alcohol 'n cigarettes, likewise. Don't think anybody paid much attention t them charts 'r all them livin' advertisements moanin 'n wheezin', and, in general, lyin' around in various stages of decomposition here.. Strange thing. Here could be a patient gaggin', wheezin', 'n spittin' up blood through his near worthless emphysemic lungs, while at the same time theyre tryin' t mooch a cigarette offa anyone; all the while, the nurses jus' couldn't wait fer a smoke break 'n hadda sneak one in between; 'r seein' pathetic alcoholics with their liver 'n brain cells mushed 'n pickled, 'n the workers, nurses, 'n even some doctors sufferin' the blearies from weekend hangovers. Some sousin' it up every night. It was like it only
happened t someone else, 'r seein' it gave ya some kinda protection from it ever happenin' t you. If ya jus' knew about, well that was enough. Protection in knowin'. Didn't make much sense. Dumb 'r death wishers. Course with Hollywood 'n advertisements picturin' the glories of wanderin' off inta the sunset someplace with a cigarette in one hand 'n a bottle of booze in the other didn't help any. At the end of the sunset there was only these here beds a-waitin' fer 'em. A fella looks fer the whole picture 'n pays heed t the posters 'n X-Rays, 'n he can save hisself a heap of grief. Somebody else can have them beds as far as you was concerned. If they're dumb enough t want 'em, let 'em have 'em. 'Sides, they ain't all that comfortable, 'specially when all them bed sores set in. No glory on this side of the sunset, no, sir! Best they can offer ya here is things that turn yer "mind t paste, yer thoughts t wet, soggy corn flakes, 'n yer words inta glue." (And there's some here glad t get that.) Besides, there ain't no resemblance whatsoever between these folks here 'n that guy wanderin' off inta the sunset in the advertisements. Come see fer yerself. Rooms' full of 'em that made the trip. They're sure hangin' in desperately fer death wishers. Guess that leaves jus' plain dumb! Then there was them what'd been packin' around two 'r more bodies with one pump. Actually, the other body amounted t buckets 'n buckets of consumed lard from greasy foods, bags 'n bags of refined carbohydrates from cakes, pastries, candy, 'n soft
drinks. Now they hadn't even made it up the hill t the prime of life, 'n the pump starts failin'. Come supper time here, you'd find 'em countin' things on their plates: two lima beans 'r ten peas; half a marble sized, fatless, tasteless, foodless meatball. Here come the indians, jus' over the rise, 'n there they sat -- alone, frightened, takin' stock of their ammunition -- countin' their beans. Guess that's what it comes down t, if ya don't take heed t the posters. Yep! 'Bout prime of life. Here come the indians over the rise. Be expectin' 'em! Institutional food was never much, 'n here it was even less, at least from the eatin' of it standpoint; didn't look too crispy, crunchy, juicy, 'r slurpy either, if ya was countin' on any help from that quarter. The smell of it was more of a soapy, disinfectant whang, leavin' ya with an appetizin' sense of complete, wholesome sterilization. Shoulda brought in the VAT, at least fer those on their way out. Make last rites a meaningful event. Puttin' on a real feed bag at the end of the trail. Somethin' t look forward to. Occasionally we'd sample an extra plate -- somebody went home 'r cashed it in -- 'n we'd see why. Least ya can say about low sodium, salt free foods -- they wasn't salty. Had that goin' fer 'em. Somethin' else t ponder along these lines after seein' these old folks deterioratin' bones snap, cracklin', poppin', 'n turnin' t dust . Ever notice how healthy the bone structure of a clam 'r barnacle is? All on a diet of plankton, mostly phyto.
Maybe somethin' in it there fer the old folks? Serve 'em up a mess of plankton now 'n again. Sorta like the way folks do "greens". Course, the head dietician sure saw the folly in lookin' t nature fer clues; what with humans bein' so much more aloof 'n higher on the evolutionary scale, no longer critters, though evidence reads it different. More like higher on the rapid self-destruct scale, with millions of other "lower critters" watchin' 'em zip by: "Hey! Who was them?" "Oh, them was humans!" "Jeeze, blinked 'n you'da missed 'em!" (Though one sympathetic, Asian dietician gal did mention the
excellent health of her "old ways" grandparents 'n seriously questioned Western medicine's disregard fer diet in relation t health.) Jus' somethin' t mention in passin' on our way t extinction. If yer a-readin' this 'n it's someplace around the year 2000 on yer calendar, you'll be interested t know that even way back here, a half-century ago, in the "olden times" when the earth was still flat 'n the center of the universe 'n the wheel was jus' hittin' the market, along with a thing called fire, we had posters, well-designed, wellthought out 'n researched, well-worded, well-colored, well-placed, 'n had everything goin' fer 'em except bein' well-read. Suspect that there'll still be them, in yer time, away out in the future, ahead of us all, when folks'll see things more clearly, fulla knowledge, understandin', 'n wisdom -- all the things that us, at best, noble savages lacked; yep, still
be them what won't be doin' much heedin' t the posters. Course, stands t reason, there'll be less of 'em 'cause "non-heedin'" isn't what you'd exactly call a top-level, high priority survival skill. Even now, here, way back when, we understood that, least some of us. Someday, way up yonder in the future, you'll walk over the rise, look around, 'n they jus' won't be there. You'll catch yerself tryin' t recall somethin', whatcha was lookin' for. Shrug it off with a, "Couldn'ta been anything important," 'n continue inta the real sunset fer another hundred of the stuff that makes life worth the livin'. Yes, sir! Non-heeders'll fade out quietly. Nobody'll even notice they was here, gone, 'r ever existed. Except maybe in history books. More likely be found under ancient curios, addictives, cults, 'n fads -- lard butts, liver picklers, 'n smoke suckers. All gone! Extinct! Right there along with the Dodo bird. Pursuin' personal interests, as ya already have 'r haven't noticed, have all been restricted t blocks of time outside of the confines imposed upon one by the advent of Portland Cement 'n the Bessemer Steel process at the Juvie "Errant Youth Retreat". Do ya believe in Fate, Manifest Destiny, the Welcome Mat? Take the word of one who appears t have got sucked up inta its "Ides of March" machinery; it's really not all that it's cracked up t be. Freedom was an "in 'n out" affair. Like playin' shootin' craps with the gods. When ya was out, ya explored every avenue possible, interest available, situation of interest ya could get inta, people ya could meet, 'n books ya could read;
'cause shortly -- Wham! Bam! In the Can! It was beginnin' t look like Manifest Destiny was indeed catchin' up t ya again each time. Ocean, deserts, mountains, critters, machine shops, optics, gears, mechanisms, ballistics, physics, 'n inventions -- they was all fair game. Open season. Then, with the purchase of a telescope, ya left the earth, 'n with the purchase of a microscope ya went inside of it. Yer horizons multiplied immensely. It was an all, everything at once affair with learnin'. Patience served only as a mask t waste time -- yers. This studyin, now over sixty fields, all at once showed ya a much bigger picture that wasnt evident with jus one field; maybe even new fields. Besides yerself, Bob was the only kid, of all the kids that came 'n went here, that even gave a passin' thought t school 'n educatin' hisself. The general opinion fer the rest of 'em was, "Man, gotta get out there and live before it's all gone." Like maybe they figured the world was a-comin' t an end. If that was so, then the Kikes woulda been edgy. If anything was a-goin' down, they'd be the first t get the wind of it. After dear Adolph, they was on the ground floor of everything. No, sir! They was right in there makin' them bucks with no end in sight. World was gonna be here all right. No need t worry 'bout that. A fella could do worse than cast his lot with the Kikes in the Capitalist ring. They did well in school. Right up there with guess who got the last top score in
English: gerunds, participles, diagrammin' sentences, contractions (heh, heh, heh). Yeh, don't make sense, does it? You'd learned long ago t hand in only "meaningless drivel" in the "polished, inarticulate vernacular t pacify the erudite rabble." Anything with substance, accuracy, ideas, 'r opinions didn't set too well with the little deities that scurried around in the minds of our instructors. The last was the worst. You could write in the most dull, stilted, starch plastered, balanced prose, while sittin' in a tub of chilled, tasteless mush, t encourage 'n inspire ya on, writin' sludge so spectacularly, graphically bland it'd make cold oatmeal puke but inspire the most celebic, drab English teachers t ecstatic heights of accomplishment; but let an opinion, unrecorded, even fleetingly, wispfully pass through yer thoughts, 'n they'd catch it. Indignancies, eyeballs bulgin', 'n flared nostrils, fer sure. Near coronaries! Now an idea was different. An idea, wellorganized, supported, 'n thought out, but not put down 'r included in yer paper, well, they'd accept that. But an opinion! Same format applied fer gettin' top scores in Biology. We all played the "meaningless drivel game". Strange, school was the only place in town where it received top billing. The fat lady was addin' things up 'n not sayin' nothin'. A kid'd leave 'n another'd take his place. Replacements comin' 'n goin'. Kid'd get on her nerves, him not knowin' what he'd been a-doin', 'n WHISK! SWOOSH! Some other kid'd be sleepin' in his bed. Number come up; short on words, she was.
Seems like the gal was a-lookin' fer perfect kids. Among us? Not jus' perfect kids, but kids that'd be perfect fer her. Kids that'd worship 'n recognize the greatness that was embodied in her little "definitely superior being". Oh! She found one. Near perfect, too. Waited on the kid, right 'n left. ZIP! UNZIP! But us kids long time back had learned t shy away of these types. Wherever this guy'd been, he'd been instantly recognized as the greasy, thievin', deceitful, lyin', cheatin', lowdown, double-crossin', wimpy, brown-nosin', suck-buttin' fink that he was. The lowest of vermin that slimed the earth. The guy couldn't hardly go back t Juvie, they despised him so much. So his P.O.'s went t all efforts 'n tried desperately t keep him out. She thought he was jus' peachy. Fit worshipper fer his majesty. But, underneath it all, she was a good gal, 'n the kid wasn't quite entirely beyond salvagin' -- not quite -- cuttin' it pretty close though. She jus' couldn't see, didn't know, didn't comprehend, 'r hadn't even been learnin' from past experiences what it took t help kids, as all her energies had been spent with different objectives in mind. The kids was jus' too much fer her. Frustrations continually built up. But the root of all the frustrations -- comin' at her from school, the kids, her friends that'd drop over -- was that nobody was cooperatin' with her dream. But if a delusion's the only thing ya got t hold onta, well? Lately, yer little talks with the BLOB, "Kid, ya jus' gotta learn t do fer yerself.
Do somethin' fer yerself. Even if it's only gettin' a-hold of yerself. That's a start anyway," had been a-workin' on her; gettin' on her case. 'Specially when he'd started dressin' hisself, tyin' his own shoes, 'n "That's it kid! It's down there someplace. Keep pokin' around! Hey, ya got it!" ZIP! ZIP! With pridin' hisself in needin' no help, you could see the numbers addin' up as she was gettin' flat out left in the cold. Yeh! Ya don't fool around with nobody's figments 'r delusions. Wasn't long before, sittin' doin' some homework one day, she came unglued. If she'd even sat down 'n learned t talk things out, she mighta learned a few helpful hints. A good lady. Shame the only one she set much store in was a brown-nosin' slimeball. There's somethin' in knowin'. Yer P.O. came 'n took ya back t Juvie. It'd been a year though. One year closer!
CHAPTER 26
In solitary after two weeks, fer takin' out a huge bull of a Pachuco boxer. The darlin' of some backed up, sewer water barrio. He'd use football play time t come out swingin' 'n walkin' over everybody -- well, almost everybody. His second pass at "comin' out swingin'" left him face down, buckled up on the ground, gaggin'. Didn't set too well when he saw it was the runt of a kid he'd tried t take out the first time. Come out swingin' 'n kickin'. Real perfessional boxin' skills. Change was takin' place. The "Tougher" was stayin' longer now. If anybody's still hangin' in there, wadin' through this mess, it sure don't look like where we started is where we're gonna finish, now, does it? Maybe we got mixed up 'n wound up in another yarn? Better check the cover 'cause where this tale's a-goin' is a dead end fer sure. Not much hope in that o1' pickin'-yerself-up-by-yer-own-
bootstraps business 'cause somebody'll trip ya every time. Sure be easy t fall inta the rut, like most the kids here, of lookin' t someone else t do fer ya, bail ya out, rescue, provide, 'n pull ya through -- P.O.'s, priest's, God! Near too much work the other way. Too much wasted work! Time stood still, as usual, here in Juvie, stagnatin' like the air; only the specks moved on the wall by the force of yer mind, 'r what's left of it. This stay had been a long stretch, 'n when yer P.O. found ya in solitary, fer the umpteenth time, he met another kid, a slowly different kid who refused his offer of another outside placement. "Nope! Sorry, but no thanks. Gonna sit right here 'n bide my time in solitary . Find some other kid." He said he thought this place was all right. A minister was operatin' it. Well, right there, it was no! Flat out! Scoundrel fer sure. What with them bein' in cahoots with God 'n all them Boys Homes counselors, conspirin' t screw up yer weekends 'n free time, not t mention all them right arms, cocked in smitin position, at the ready. A more scurrilous lot of oily, deceptive vipers you'll never find. The devil's a man of honor 'side these vermin. Yer P.O. was pleadin', "My God! You've been locked up this time almost a year. Most of it spent in here. At least give it a try." "Nope!" A last pleadin' shrug, "Not even a look?" "Nope!!" He left. It was quiet in the cell. The way it should be. The way it felt good. 'Sides, that last judge, after readin' all the records written by Home 'n school counselors, house mothers 'n fathers, 'n callin' ya a
"Bad Seed" sounded sorta catchy. Why bother? Let 'em think what they wanted; what they're supposed t think. Let him listen t the cacklin' of those old, haggily house mothers, "God will get you," but jus' t make sure, they'd write up detailed reports on how he was supposed t go about it; 'n pay heed t the frustrations of crazies 'n kid molesters who loaded up the records after failed attempts t conquer. Best he change his readin' material, though, 'r at least the authors, before he starts believin', payin' heed, 'n fallin' inta the clutches of an addled pack of crazed, half-wit loonies; that he'd have locked up, tarred 'n feathered 'n run outta town on a rail, all in one night, even if he hadda do it hisself, wearin' a white sheet over his head, if he caught these bent things perpetrating their sick acts on his own children. You think we jest? Gets personal 'n the law goes fer the throat! Right off! Fast! 1900's, 1800's, 1700's, B.C. You name it! No difference. The jugular every time! A point! Moot as it may seem. In here, solitary, Juvie or any other mindless vacuum where youre denied the tools, will, the permission to seek out and prove anything related t any principles related t any reality, the truth of the matter, yer mind is left with nothin t work with, n is left with movin things about on its own without any real points of reference. One had to be very careful, after discoverin that the mind had a mind of its own, that who knew what hair-brained nonsense, mumbojumbo or fantasy world its fickle nature would concoct without bein reigned in by
proof . Whoa, boy! And we do know that the mind do love fantasy. Any fantasy over any reality any day! Look around you, you folks on the outs. See! Droolers of asbsurties abound. Lots of vacuums out there; aint only in here.! Well, there ya have it. Yer P.O. returned a few days later sayin' he talked t the minister 'n explained the doubts t him. He said the guy was really on the level wantin' t help kids. After much, up-front talk, ya agreed t give it a trial. With the understandin', of course, that the cell would be here if it didn't work out. No games! Only a couple years left. Serve it right here in this cell! Every time they'd let ya out of Juvie, it didn't make no difference 'cause it was always the same. Things had changed while yer mind had been on hold in a cold storage vacuum: clothes, cars, wars. All different players. Friends often wasn't around no more, with few people even knowin' who ya was a-talkin' about. Guys that'd had girls on the "OUTS" often found 'em gone, married, pregnant, 'r shackin' up with some dude "livin' down the coast". Guys hardly rememberin' who ya was, "Oh, you, man. Hey, where ya been? Gotta run." A big used car dealership might now stand where yer old apartment used t be. Torn down almost overnight. A freeway goin' through the old barrio. A gas station where yer girl friend used t live. Wherever she's gone to. A gang's whole turf, fought over a hundred times, would all be gone; buried under the tons of
concrete 'n asphalt of a huge, sprawling parking lot. Stuff like this bothered some. They'd talk about it back in Juvie after a short stay on the OUTS. "Shit! The whole mother-fuckin' barrio was gone, man! Christ!" Ya see, there wasn't no other place they could go t even talk about it. Juvie was more'n a home away from home fer some. There was a security in all that concrete 'n steel. This was where their buddies lived. This was where the stories 'n legends still lived. To some it was like leavin' home. Glassy-eyed they talk about it. Six months, a year, don't sound like much, but ya walk out talkin' 'n thinkin' funny t the rest of the world, squintin' at all the sunlight. Give it a try. Put yer mind on hold fer a year 'r so 'n then walk out inta society. Know a place where ya can pull it off, if ya need any suggestions. Anyway, this time it was 1958, fer what it's worth. Readjustin' was readjustin'. Calendars don't make no difference. Sand is Sand.
CHAPTER 27
Let it be known, fer the records, that it was not without some trepidation that this was even attempted. This preacher guy wasn't gonna be no mere novice, layman, sicko, religious dingbat counselor 'r housemother, gettin' occasional visions 'n insight. No, sir! This guy'd be perfessional, up front, personally chummy with the o1' man hisself. Him 'n God'd be in the back room layin' their cards out. "This is how it is! Do it!" No sub-contractin' out assignments here. If the big guy said, "Do it," he'd do it. These guys 'n their like had been the first t rat 'n squeal on ya. The first t make sure that the whacks, closets, slats, privations, freedom robbin', penalties, 'n worship prohibitin' was right there 'n not shirked. This guy'd get all his instructions first-hand on how t pull it off so he'd know how t really get the job done. Yep, a real perfessional. A preacher. More'n wary ya was.
A fella puts store in what he knows; beyond doubt things. Hard, hard, hard lesson things. A fella don't. Well, no need sayin' he's a fool. A wanderin' fool with nothin' t guide him but nothin'. Now it's a known fact, a little goodness, taken in moderation 'n not t excess 'n sprinkled with a bit of larceny, lechery, vice, 'n some wholesome capitalism, can't do much harm. Sorta evens the ill effects of the do-gooders out. It was with this in mind thatcha cased the situation right off, lookin' fer these signs that'd balance things out. Corruption ya could handle. A crook knew he lived in this world 'n hadda eat 'n take a crap right along with the rest of us. A man realizes that, 'n he's a man ya can deal with. It's them others that fall inta the less than one percent of the population a fella's gotta watch. However, they show up. Isn't this what they call paranoia? So it was, with no small sigh of relief, that balancin' things showed up. The preacher, short 'n fat, didn't have no qualms against leadin' the good life, least as far as clothes, cars, 'n especially loadin' up his plate was concerned; 'n his wife, skinnier'n a rail, fell in nicely behind, humbly caught up in the splendor of his down-draft 'n the magnificence of his wake. Though he wasn't what you'd call a good businessman, he was so filled with that all-American spirit, a-tryin' everything, that, sooner 'r later, he'd be bound t pick up a few skills. Hadda admire his pluck. He'd find a place, an older place that needed some work done on it, 'n us kids'd fix it up some, so we could live in
it. His bottom line was t get a bigger 'n better place so's he could help more kids. But, the flesh was indeed weak; 'n his personal vices, standard of livin' mostly, things that kept him in line all balanced out, often proved his undoin'. He did pull off one 'r two deals that showed a certain amount of down-to-earth, grass-roots creativity. He'd ask yer advice on things, now 'n again. Some he weighed 'n considered; others he went his own way, bein' at times bull-headed. A few in particular, he come up eatin' the worst kinda crow. He'd come back, "Tell me. How can a kid, with obviously little formal education, be so sharp in business matters and human nature?" We'd chat a lot about things of this nature: "#1. You want it. Well, right there he's gotcha by the balls. #2. Even an honest man's not above makin' a handsome profit. Which means, at best, you're likely gonna pay fer it; smart some. #3. Course, you a-tryin' t convince him what he's got ain't much, only makes you more the fool fer wantin' it. He ain't no fool! #4. Walkin' away's an awful strong bargainin' point. Rule of thumb. Stay away from folks that got things ya want too much!" He'd been fairly new at doin' what he could t help kids; some ups 'n downs, but he stuck in there. Gave him credit fer that. He had sand! Awhile before you'd got there, he'd had four boys 'n somehow wound up co-ed, with a girl. All fifteen 'n sixteen year olds. That age. Wasn't long before she could hardly walk she was gettin' it so much. Word got around 'n he wound up movin', reevaluatin', 'n started again. Didn't give up
on the kids, jus' drug 'em along -- 'ceptin' the girl who he found a good home fer. Knew a few of the kids. No lectures. Hey! You don't think them kids knew what they was adoin'? That's when you entered the picture -- inta an older, wooden, two-story with barn out back -- with three of the original kids. Later, when he pulled off one of his promisin' signs of creative business acumen, we moved inta a huge mansion in the most expensive residential part of town. Huge gets bigger when ya start measurin' it in acres. The mansion, built by a very prominent, well-known, early American writer, was still in the hands of the family. The family, like all inheritors, were wantin' t unload the estate 'n split the take so's they could get along with their lives -- their new lives that were rightfully theirs 'n that they so richly deserved. But, with today's high market values, cost of land 'n taxes, they were hard pressed t find any bumpkin's t fleece 'r turkeys t pluck. On t big! Brick 'n ornamental wrought iron, covered with ivy 'n overhung by limbs of old, stately trees, surrounded the estate. The well-manicured front lawn, near as big as a football field, was only the start, as ya followed it around through more'n a half-acre of spacious, majestic rose gardens, 'n this was only goin' round one side of the Spanishstyled brick 'n adobe, double storied, tiled roof mansion. Movin' along through the five bedrooms on the top floor 'n down t the maids quarters below, close t the kitchen 'n
wine cellar, 'n walkin' underneath the huge two foot by two-foot by forty-foot timber beams, like giant railroad ties, fer one hundred feet of the living 'n music room, complete with its own coat of arms, ya got a fair idea of spacious. The separate, halfdozen car garage also housed upstairs 'n down chauffeurs' 'n gardeners' quarters. Continuin' around, there were more exotic trees, a monstrous compost pit, a fifty-foot diameter, hexagonal,screened patio restin' in the middle of a gigantic arboretum of exotic everything -- flowers, shrubs, 'n fruit trees --until ya hit the small, cool, dark, old forest. This was definitely the biggest estate in this exclusive, upper, upper crust residential area. How he got it showed up front, not wantin' t cheat anybody, creative reasonin' 'n negotiation skills. Mind, he asked yer opinion on a few points: time in man hours, expenses, 'n necessary maintenance skills before the "deal"? "agreement"? was arrived upon. What all the hagglin' amounted t was more of a tailored, temporary stop gap that offered breathin' space 'n relief fer the owners 'n real estate agency from the heavy financial drain of taxes 'n maintenance fees 'n frustrations of years of tryin' t sell it; while, at the same time, provided a home fer some kids. In a nutshell: he paid the taxes, 'n did the ground maintenance. It worked out pretty good, with you, as usual (like back at the barn), doin' most of the gardenin' 'n repairin'. The real estate lady, a feisty o1' sort, hadda come by, every
now 'n then, jus' cause she felt a part of all those flowers, lawns, 'n trees, as she'd put in so many hours, personally trimmin', prunin', 'n keepin' up. She liked the spacious grounds. We got along fine the couple years we worked at it together. She liked the idea of how it'd turned out, albeit temporary. She'd grumble 'n complain now 'n again, but, really, who could trim the such 'n such roses 'r the other exotics as well as she? Puttin' yerself in the position of a realtor 'n knowin' the situation, you'da probably used a somewhat different strategy. Instead of makin' a killin' -- elevated prices 'n hopes of gettin' rich quick (maybe too many relatives wantin' too much) you'da pushed cuttin' yer losses (years on the market is expensive), goin' fer an actual value sale, in lieu of circumstances (sellin' difficulties, taxes, maintenance fees, zoned residential, but industrial size), sell with reality in mind t what the market will bear, incorporate with as many names as possible (personal income 'n inheritance tax angle), invest in bonds -- tax free, high minimum, 'r somethin' of that nature -- 'n they'd all have what they'd wanted, interest bearin' capital; 'n after a year they could look back t that instead of another year of high taxes 'n maintenance fees. Then again, they'd have t be content with a slightly smaller, but still substantial, take, though, even then, with followin' this path they might have come out ahead in the long run. Course, where there's inheritance involved, there's relatives that gather like grave robbin', bone pickin' vultures, 'n their greed woulda stopped 'em from followin' such a path. But that was
neither here nor there; jus' playful speculation. Entirely outta the question. There is a moot point of legality t consider in such a transaction. Surely one cannot flagrantly shuck aside the wishes of the benefactor of such a gift, no matter how smitten 'n consumed by greed you or yer salivatin' pack of oilypalmed attorneys are. Do not his wishes, backed up by his contributions 'n greatness, count fer somethin'? There is a will! "Ahhhh! Yes! Yes! That legal mumbo-jumbo. We have taken care of that nicely. No bother. No problem! All been arranged. Tidied up nicely." But, sir, you don't seem t understand. "Bah! What is there not to understand? He is dead, and, by law, we are legally entitled to everything he had." But, sir, anticipatin' such, the benefactor published his real will and wishes publicly! It is clear 'n explicit, in all accounts 'n intentions, havin' read it some years back, on who gets what. Quite short on vultures! As a matter of fact, the knowledge of its contents is public domain, found in nearly every library, in every country on the face of this earth, one would suppose, in each its respected language. Open fer all. No closed doors here t "tidy things up nicely". More'n clear. Go look it up! Read it yerself, if ya haven't already. Most folks have, least when they was kids anyway. Perhaps the o1' gal realtor, who'd convinced 'n persuaded the relatives on the deal, had read the author's will 'n figured these were his real wishes. He'd like it that
way. Seems she mumbled somethin' t that effect one afternoon when we was workin' together in the rose garden. Putterin' 'n smilin' she was. Eventually, as things evolved, only him 'n his wife 'n little son, along with us four original kids, plus one more, 'n an occasional short stay by some other kid, lived at the mansion. The other dozen r so kids stayed at one of his other places. Despite yer words of caution t take it slow in buildin' up the herd, he paid fer his blunderin' pigheadedness. Gettin' two 'r three new kids at a time was too many at once. One will try t fit in; two 'r more will go their own way. The way that got 'em here in the first place. He wanted t get too big, too fast. Goin' fer the glory of another Boys Town, most likely. One day, watchin' him on the phone, a-wheelin' 'n dealin' fer truckloads of furniture, 'n squirmin' 'n pullin' his hair out over kids' problems (splittin', gangin' up, outside hustlin', and, in general, goin' their own way), ya calmly reviewed the whole hectic situation 'n mentioned, "Whatcha got planned followin' this act? Walkin' on water?" Oh well. Let him simmer in his own juices. Even the good need their mettle tested if they're gonna leave any footprints. Tried t get him t shuck this thing he was a-goin' through 'n got hisself all tangled up in. Usually went like this, "Yer own church people don't appreciate what yer a-doin'. Them old biddies complainin' about havin' so many sinners in church 'n that affair you was supposed t have had with the church secretary -- they sure screwed up
on that one, what with you bein' outta state fer the week. A lot of ho-hummin' but no apologies. Let's meet on common ground. Yer a con man 'n a hustler -- a damn good one at that. But, yer in the wrong profession. Ya know it, too, if you'd admit it t yerself. Gotta get it outta yer mind thatcha hafta be somethin' religious 'r a charity 'r organization t do good. Yer a decent man 'n these scum are out t do one 'n only one thing -- destroy, ruin, 'n corrupt ya. Yer doin' all this helpin' but associatin' with the wrong crowd. You work, sweat, worry, stay up nights travelin', counselin', 'n helpin', 'n the only thing these low-lifes are a-doin' is pullin' down their pants t crap on ya. Put it this way: Yer doin' positive things in a negative environment. Why, they're creatin' scandals faster'n you can sin. None of this woulda ever happened if ya hadn't got yerself tangled up with this scurvy lot of venomous, bitchin', lyin', backstabbin' noaccounts. They go after yer blood; 'tain't mere gossipin'. They got their eyes on doin' t you what they did t that guy on the cross -- nails, pokin' holes in him. And that, 'Father forgive 'em fer they know not what they do,' stuff, don't hold water. 'Cause, then 'n now, they know damn well what they's up t. That guy's Father shoulda come right down 'n hauled ass, kicked 'em all in the nuts. Show 'em ya don't do that t nobody, leastwise t one that's a-doin' good. Ain't civil! Serve well now, too. Whup 'em right in shape.
"No good'll come from dealin' with these kinda lice. Didn't yer mother ever warn ya, man, about liars, deceivers. Get inta somethin' honest -- hustlin' cars, insurance, real estate. Use yer talents wisely. Somethin' about that in the Good Book. Good skills these kids here'd pick right up on. Yer brother got outta it. Got hisself a sawmill. Doin' well. Helpin' out. Sensible man." Well, he was a long sufferin' man who beared with our little chats 'n wasn't above listenin' 'n ponderin'. The "one more" kid that joined us at the mansion, after spendin' some time at the other place, was worth mentionin'. "Animals! Beasts! Carrion Feeders!" were his exact sentiments about the kids at the other place when he'd arrived t become yer roommate. A bit of culture was comin' yer way. Never bothered searchin' out the exact details of what landed him here. If he wanted t talk, fine; if not, fine. We became friends bound by our search fer knowledge. The kid was brilliant. His father was a prominent, leadin' manufacturer in the United States, and, as a man of means, he'd sent William (we'll call him William, though the name he'd picked fer himself 'n went by signified "The Enlightened One" in Japanese) t the finest, first-class boarding schools. Now, William had never wished t attend these elite schools, but his father had his manufacturing 'n his mother had her society. When William finally became quite adamant t schools 'n father about not going back, it was somewhat late in life fer adamancy. His parents, neither knowin' much of the
care
'n maintenance of a child, let alone an adolescent, were confronted with a
dilemma that really didn't fit inta their way of life. T say that they had grown apart -mother, father, 'n child -- would imply the connotation that they were once "close". At best, their forced encounters -- vacations 'n the like -- were tense. The dialogue consisted mainly of him stressin' not wantin' t go back t the pretentious, phony world of games in high places, 'n them, not knowin' how t deal with this ever more complicated creature, followin' their usual pattern of sensible reasonin', "It is for your best interest," 'n would quickly elevate t the commandin', orderin' level of red-faced, veiny-necked, screechin' vocal-corded, surefire communication, "I am your father and you will obey me!" William was never convinced that it was fer his "best interest". The bottom line now was that William 'n parents were forced t exist together usin' the only form of communication that they had ever cultured between them. Is volatile a good word? Goin' t the best schools has the advantage of receivin' the best education possible, aside from the social skulduggery, pomp, 'n games he so much detested. Frustrations of a mother, whose time was "filled up" with all those "necessary" functions, teas, bazaars, 'n social obligations, 'n of a father, who had his manufacturing concerns, ultimately won out in the end. A disruption of the good life was t be avoided at all costs fer the mother 'n father. Things got worse when William, not wantin' t be
left t his own devices, was, indeed, left t his own devices. Forthwith, exact details all jumbled with screechin' frustrations, he wound up here, via the courts. A bit of William. The parents had undoubtably wanted, as all parents want, the best education possible fer their child -- high scores, good thinker, making contacts with people that knew the right people. Well, they got what they wanted -- 'n not only had no time fer "IT" but didn't know what t do with "IT". So, here we have William: a genetically superior mind, that has received the best education possible, replete with social graces 'n the right connections. He has, up till now, not wished t play the games whereby those in high places amuse themselves. "Up till now" is where we must center the focus upon William. His two hundred dollar suits 'n equally casual attire belied the fact that he was not spoiled in the least, only functionin' in another world 'n was quite flexible 'n willin' t learn. Likewise, he was hardly the waster, bounder, 'n the cad, as one would be led t believe of a youth in his situation, but was highly principled, possessin' integrity 'n dignity, though he was the first t question his merits. Those values he apparently acquired against the will of, 'n in spite of, his fellow colleagues, associates, 'n (parents?). We struck 'n shared our common ground, not only upon the desire fer learnin', but upon maintainin' principles in the face of all adversity. One can be bought by
opulence as well as the lack of it. Ya play yer hand with the cards dealt, whether in the back alley 'r in palacious splendor. The sharin' proved interestin'. A whole new world opened up t both of us. Fer him it was a transition, nothin' more, inta the world of scrap yards, wrecking lots, machine and wood shops, scavenging fer everything, ballistics testin', 'n the introduction t interestin' characters. Fer yerself, the entrance inta the world of the elite, with its toys 'n games, proved equally educational. William knew the toys, where they were found, 'n how t play with 'em. From "appointment only" Rolls Royce showrooms, being sized fer tailor made suits, t exclusive clubs 'n functions, he was recognized, if not personally, then by his appearance, speech, 'n manner, as one of the "in crowd". His, "You want it?" casually referrin' t a two hundred dollar plus, tailored suit, t yer, "Not really, but even so, who'd pay fer it?" t his unconcerned, "A name," t yer, "Whose?" t his, "A friend, relative, anybody. Put it on their account. They'll pay for it," showed he knew the rules of functionin' 'n playin' games in these circles. Of the most personal interest t you were the meetin' of people at functions -certain people! Some of these folks were not only right at the top in their field -prominent physicists, engineers, doctors, attorneys, "GENETICISTS," but were also down-to-earth as well; 'n a fella could learn a thing 'r two, 'n exchange some ideas, now
that speech had been acquired. Speech was now a tool; a key often used by William; an acceptable 'n viable form of currency of recognition he used t enter 'n function within his circle. As time passed, 'n we'd both made each others rounds, William commented one day: "Clothes really make no difference to you, do they? It is not a 'thing' with you to look the Barbarian, the Bohemian! The patched tennis shoes, worn and mended jeans and shirts only serve a function. For me, it would be a feeling of nakedness. It would be nice to be that secure. None of my friends have felt the least offence at you; nor have I. If you will permit me to pass on a comment made more than once, it has been noticed that, not only when you talk but when you observe people, it is captivatingly intense! To watch you, one would think you are dismantling, bolt by bolt, the very psyche of the person. It definitely leaves a feeling of being exposed completely. Somewhat similar to the sensation of being found out. You really size a person up fast, not wasting any time trimming the superficial and shallow. Right to the quality people! They've noticed that! You remember that crowd last week, of top scientists in many fields, where you got wrapped up in numerous topics? Well, some of the guests made passing comments to the hostess on leaving. Though humorous in nature, they belied a certain, thought provoking sobriety. We've met our match, Fascinating ideas, I wonder where he went to school?
Knowing you, these type of comments don't even reach your level of awareness because you are so wrapped up in things and concepts that most people hardly know exist. I say this because you should be aware of it. It's something you have. God knows where you're going, or where you'll wind up; besides it being different, you'll need everything you've got to get there. Oh, and by the way, the hostess says you're welcome anytime." As mentioned earlier, William was not his name; havin' discarded his family's surname, he chose one more appropriate, signin' all papers thus. As a matter of fact, William often chose t represent whoever 'r whatever he chose t represent. Doing it quite successfully. Our encounter merely broadened his range of options. After all, he was definitely genetically superior, had the best education possible, knew the right people, 'n had learned t play the games, which, "Up till now," he chose not t play. Occasionally there was some kid from the other place brought over t stay a couple weeks. Usually it was because they were gettin' inta trouble, from school t police, 'n they needed closer watchin' fer awhile. They hated it here at the big mansion. There weren't any parties, booze, bringin' over girls, 'n general open house. They could get away with near everything with whoever was watchin' 'em over there. So we got the worst of 'em, now 'n then, fer a while.
There was this big kid, raisin' hell, threatenin', 'n punchin' whoever he wanted 'cause he was so big. The guy wouldn't do nothin' over there or here: no chores, helpin', cooperatin', pickin' up after hisself, 'r even his own wash. This last point needs dwellin' on some. He'd wait till one of us would wash 'n iron our clothes, 'n then he'd casually pick out what he wanted, wear 'em, 'n leave 'em lyin' wherever he took 'em off -bathroom floor, outside, 'r someplace else where it took some huntin' t find 'em.. He, right off, took an instant likin' t yer sports shirts, all cleaned 'n ironed, and, 'cause ya wore yer shirts loose, he could fit inta some of 'em. The other kids let him take whatever he wanted, "Man, he's too big. Let him have what he wants." Askin' him t ask t borrow yer shirts didn't work worth beans. He didn't even bother t listen t ya, walkin' away while ya was still askin'. The next approach of, "Here we do fer ourselves," brought a sneer, a, "Hah!" as he rolled up his eyes in his head, 'n a, "Get offa it, punk!" After a couple weeks of torn, stained, 'n lost shirts, it was gettin' old. Approachin' him after findin' one of yer shirts, torn 'n on the floor in his room, "Next time gonna take it offa ya! Wherever!"; only brought an indifferent, "Get offa it, punk!" 'n a laugh. Next day, comin' home from school, ya noticed yer new sport shirt gone. Marty, one of the permanents, said, "Yeh, he just left for the bus stop with it on." Well, the bus stop was only a couple blocks away 'n with luck ya could catch him.
There was an assortment of folks waitin' fer the bus, along with the big kid, 'n yer, "Okay, wanna take it off, 'r are we gonna do this the hard way?" musta seemed odd t them; though it still didn't sink in at all t the big guy. So you commenced unbuttonin' yer shirt that was on him. Ahhh hah! First signs of sinkin' in! First signs of communication! "Hey! Whatcha doin', punk!?" takin' a swing atcha, which ya ducked. His nose was broken before he hit the ground, dazed. "Wanna take it off?" Still not quite understandin' what was happenin', he made a wild swingin' lunge as he got up, that confused the bystanders even more 'n put him back on the ground, doubled up gaspin', with an eye swellin' shut 'n blood runnin' outta a badly split lip. Then t the accompaniment of the spectators', "Oh my god's", shrieks, 'n "Jeeesus! Lookit that big guy's face!" ya calmly took yer new shirt offa him. Holdin' up yer shirt, torn 'n blood splattered, 'n lookin' down at that disgustin' mess on the ground, not the bloody cuts 'r swollen, distorted face, but what his 'n his kind represented, ya tossed yer shirt down t him with a, "Get outta here!" Next day the preacher mentioned that the big guy had come pleadin' desperately, through swollen, cut lips, 'n a puffed up 'n squinty-eyed, black 'n blue face, t go back t the other place, promisin' he'd clean up his act. The preacher asked, shiverin' a bit, if ya knew what'd happened t him? "Probably tripped," brought a smile from him. The preacher was learnin'! Sometimes words jus' ain't enough.
The next visitor from the other place was a Korean kid, in fer murder. The preacher thought he could help him. Well, the kid'd done somethin' terrible t one of the boys at the other place 'n was over here now fer closer watchin'. The word was, from the other kids, that he wasn't short on lettin' ya know he'd killed a guy, 'n you'd be next if ya crossed him. Him bein' Asian, it looked somethin' different, him a-screwin' up his face 'n glarin' atcha, tryin' t come across with an evil-eye look. Kids got plumb scared of him over there. Well, with him bein' Asian, 'n there bein' so many good Asian gardeners 'n landscapers around here workin' on the different estates, ya naturally expected him t know somethin' about this kinda stuff 'n help out with the gardenin' chores. A sincere, "Maybe ya could give us some pointers here?", only brought the scrunched up, evil-eye look. A few weeks went by with him a-doin' little more around the place than evil-eyin' ya 'n bringin' it t yer attention he'd murdered a guy. Then the preacher mentioned that it'd be necessary fer all of us t get together 'n get the grounds lookin' their best fer some reason. He assigned chores, with you 'n the Korean kid gettin' the mowin' 'n sprucin' up of the football field. All the other kids did what was expected fer the occasion, exceptin' him. On the last evening before we was supposed t be done, he shows up as ya was furiously tryin' t finish off the field, havin' worked on it every evening this last week. Yer mentionin' t him, as he was comin' up the walk, "Ya know it sure wouldn't hurt if
you'd pitch in 'n give a hand," brought on the worst of his screwin' up his evil eye 'n death threats yet. Warnin's outright! Watch Out! Ya may not wake up tomorrow mornin' stuff. Well, a guy tastes death blood once, 'n ya never know when he'll maybe get a hankerin' fer it again. Now, this jus' isn't the way t keep things runnin' smoothly, death threatenin' everybody day in 'n day out. He turned around 'n started t open the huge front door, but his attention was distracted by a light finger tap on his shoulder, nothin' more. He turned around glarin', face screwed up, eye-evilin' atcha, t be confronted with a calm, "It's like this fella. A guy goes about tellin' everybody he's gonna do this 'r that 'n never gets around t doin' this 'r that, why folks, before long, gets it in their heads that he's really not gonna do it at all. 'All words. Yes, sir! The fella's all words.' That's what they'll say. Let's folks down some. Expectin' 'n not receivin'. So, jus' t clear up things a bit, are ya 'r are ya not gonna kill me? Somethin' a fella needs t know, right up. Worth knowin'." The preacher'd said the Korean kid had killed a guy usin' Asian fightin' techniques. Whatever that meant? Well, whoever he was, he was still gonna hafta use his hands, feet, 'r whatever. Nothin' new there. Standin' there, at the ready, not knowin' exactly what t expect, savin' t be killed, more 'r less, by some strange, mysterious, foreign "technique", only heightened the suspense 'n anticipation, though didn't really
do much t bring things inta proper focus. Not real clear anyway. Fer sure, not a time t blink 'n miss it! Oh well! Let death come. His real quick sneaky way of tryin' t kick ya in the balls, got hisself hard up against the door, jarrin' him some 'n got him a taste of his own blood, tricklin' through a split lip; 'n his odd, straight out, fast jerkin' right punch, complete with the damnedest grunts 'n squeals ya ever heard, was blocked, 'n his, almost at the same time, left punch was ducked -- barely. In between his shrillin' squeals 'n deep throated grunts, that appeared t be heroic efforts at coughin' up phlegm, he got hisself a knot alongside his eye, big as could be. You could tell it not only rattled him good, but left him with shocked disbelief all over his rapidly swellin' face. Before he could try anymore of that balls stuff, ya put him in a vice lock with yer left arm. Then began, whatcha might call, our gettin' t know each other session. We talked fer awhile about death 'n dyin' stuff, 'n then we sat down 'n talked some more about how things was. Really, he didn't turn out t be much of a
conversation piece; not doin' much talkin' at all. Disappointingly one sided, it was; you a-pointin' out the fine points of the subject at hand, with him only noddin' his slowly changin', blue t purplish, bulgin' eyed, gaspin' faced head, as ya tightened up yer arm around his veiny neck fer a spell 'n talked on 'n on 'n on 'n on. If ya didn't catch
yerself, while ya was talkin', like now, ramblin' aimlessly on 'n on 'n on, you'da never
noticed that his eyes was bulgin' near outta his head; 'n his face would be a veiny, swollen, dark purple; so, as time went by, you'd sorta occasionally glance down 'n realize you'd plumb forgot about him in all the chitter-chatter 'n have t ease up a tat on the arm pressure. We shot the breeze fer about a half-hour, him alternatin' between purples 'n pales. He never did turn out t be much fer small talk; though his squeals 'n grunts did turn inta wheezes 'n gasps, there really wasn't much, as ya could say, that amounted t actual dialogue potential there. Shame! With his eloquence somewhat restricted t those "heroic efforts at coughin' up phlegm" with those squeals 'n grunts, he was turnin' out t be quite a dull chap. It was gettin dark 'n there was still more lawn t mow; besides, there's only so much ya can talk about death 'n dyin' before interest wanes. We parted, understandin' each other more clearly. He wasn't there the next mornin'. Preacher mentioned it in passin'. He'd tried. The next visitor of concern was a small, slim, light mustached, fidgety kid who looked like a gangster's gangster. If anybody looked like a weasel on the prowl it was Benny. Here comes Capone's right-hand man, steppin' right outta the Roarin' Twenties 'n prohibition. Him 'n Hank had mostly stuck together since you'd known 'em, but after sizin' things up, it came out different than you'da expected. Benny, who looked like he belonged in the numbers racket -- makin' book, pimpin' out, racketeerin', 'n all those gangster things -- wanted t go straight, desperately; 'n Hank, who looked the font of
innocence, was evil incarnate -- slime! Had 'em all fooled. A few talks with Benny, on the side, had proved their worth. "Yeh, man! Everybody thinks I'm a hood. Lookit me! Right outta a Bogart flick! Real Pat Boone type here, yeh, man! I wanna make it straight. Somebody's gotta know that." We'd talk, as time went by. He'd given it a shot - the straight life. Some runs. Some hits. Some errors. Benny was actually mild mannered, soft spoken, thoughtful, 'n considerate, along with other things as well, but in these things he was solid! A couple three things happened, where two meet, passin', doin' what they can t help. The first was the afore-mentioned talks, the beginnin'. The second was that Benny was now payin' us a visit here --scared! Benny had tried school 'n was still tryin' it, knowin' he needed it. He'd got hisself in a "little trouble" on the side, bein' a good lookin', smooth talkin' sort that girls fell fer. Seems he'd sacked out with a gang leader's girl, who said he claimed her, 'n now this guy was some pissed; t the extent, as a matter fer the records, there were eight 'r nine of his gang out after Benny. As it turned out, Benny had known who she was 'n what he was probably gonna get inta; but, even though she probably wasn't worth fightin' over, she at least had the right t "who claimed her", 'r who she wanted t hit the hay with. Now, tell me this. How can ya not like a guy, grinnin' atcha like that. Guy's got spunk, but eight r nine? Even one on one, he said he'd more'n likely get the crap beat outta him.
They knew he was here, 'n the leader, with his eight 'r nine, was waitin' fer him at the girl's house which, ironically, was located only a few blocks away. The gang knew that the kids at the other place had deserted Benny 'n figured the same'd happen here. The way Benny figured it, a few times show of force 'n that'd be it. What it all boiled down t was a guy who wanted t go straight, was tryin' hard, 'n had dumped Hank a while back, but was now up against some "extenuatin'" circumstances, 'n needed some help. Three runs, one error. Guy can win a game with those averages. Smilin', "Okay, Benny. What time?" It irked Benny somethin' fierce havin' t revert t askin' fer help. "This is a free country!" So he had us walk outta our way, right in front of her house. Feisty enough fer ya? Ya likin' him already? He was a dishwasher in a late night cafe 'n jus' needed some company goin' t the bus stop. A lotta good two would do if there was eight 'r nine. But, still?! Nothin' happened fer a week of keepin' him company t the bus stop until one afternoon Benny came up perplexed 'n shakin' his head. What'd happened had taken him by surprise 'n he still couldn't understand it all. So he started layin' it out, best he could. Seems four of the gang had come up t him in town earlier in the day, 'n Benny figured this was it. He was gettin' ready t do somethin', he didn't know what, when they starts up: "Hey, man. No hard feelin's." "It's OK. It's OK." "Hey, we didn't know!" "So we watch it, OK." "We don't want no
hasslin', man. No way. Not with him!" Here was these guys, who coulda, any one of 'em, put him outta commission, but good, apologizin' t him. Well, Benny was caught between dumpin' a load in his pants 'n seein' light at the end of the tunnel, 'r maybe feelin' a little feisty, when another guy starts up, "Yeh! You shoulda seen what he did t them Pachucos a few years back over on the East side. Busted ass until there wasn't a fuckin' one that wasn't scared shitless. Pull a blade on him 'n yer history. Man, they didn't know what t do! A bunch of 'em gets ready t jump him, 'n he'd attack 'em bare hands. Shit man! He tore the hell outta all of 'em. You never seen nothin' like it. They was cartin' 'em t the hospital right 'n left. There was other kids there too 'n saw it, vomitin' fer the mess he left 'em in. Baby! He wailed!! He don't stop! One shot and they was out. Smashed t shit! He's some kinda fuckin' wild animal. He don't back down. No way gonna mess with that." All the while Benny says he's standin' there not knowin' who they's talkin' about 'r if this is a big joke, 'n they's gonna all pounce on him. Then another guy opens up, "Me 'n some dudes, some tough black dudes, know him from Juvie. There ain't no word fer it, man. Shit on wheels!" another guy busts in, "Fuckin' A right, man," guy continues, "Seen him take out guys that nobody, but nobody fucked with. One big mother-fucker came in swingin', 'n Wham, Bam, he wasn't right fer a long time afterwards. Word got around in the black part when he was there a few years back.
Word got around from other dudes that knowed him from Juvie 'n nobody messed with him. Shit! There's somethin' scary about a guy that likes it in the hole. They ain't dumb." Benny still had no idea who 'r what they was a-talkin' about 'r when they was all gonna come down on him until one of the guys continued, "Shit! No way would you believe it. Here's this quiet runt of a kid, always readin' some fuckin' book, 'n then there's bodies all over the place." Then it came together a little, but still didn't make much sense, enough t believe it. Then Benny paused, still perplexed 'n shakin' his head, confused, when ya shrugged it off, "Don't worry about it Benny. Jus' forget it. Consider yerself lucky 'n leave it at that. Probably them not wantin' t get in any trouble. Maybe jus' second thoughts. Ya know how stories go." Benny looks down, still confused, examinin' his skinny little body, "Yeh! They're probably shakin' in their boots, scared as hell, messin' with this, all eight 'r nine of 'em. Yeh, sure?!" The third is findin' yer way through a web so tangled that hardly light can pass through it fer the seein' of anything, let alone the understandin'. There must be a start someplace. Confusion's gotta begin somewhere, you'd think. There jus' ain't all of a sudden confusion; don't seem right, but that's how it appeared, so we'll hafta hop right inta the middle of it 'n see where we land. There was a church. This church had a preacher, regular; a few spares; some practicin' t be preachers; preachers passin' through, on their way t pass through some
other church someplace, havin' jus' passed through others before this one; 'n young folk wantin' t be preachers. If you'da kept count, at any given service, why there'd be as many preachers as preachees. Appeared like most everybody wanted t get in on the act. So, ya ask yerself, why did anyone wanna become a preacher, leastways, here in this church? Wasn't the money, that's fer sure. Most preachers was half starvin' t death 'r needin' t work on the side. Well, fer one, if ya was a preacher 'r plannin' on bein' one, folks'd laud all over ya with praise 'n admiration fer yer "sacrifices", 'n couldn't do enough fer ya, especially the womenfolk -- the younger ones more specifically. And, two, a preacher held a kinda power over folks, 'specially the womenfolk, the younger ones more specifically -- with most of these younger ones wantin' t become preachers wives 'n perhaps get in on some of that "laudin' 'n praisin'" 'n maybe even share in a little of that, "kinda power over people." Fer the sake of simplicity (simplicity?) we're gonna narrow this down t a small percentage of the total: six participants, three males 'n three females, though there's more -- Lord knows there's more! In the pants corner there's Gary, Ron, 'n Carlos, 'n in the other corner of the ring we have the skirts, Joan, Carol, 'n Louise. All participants are ages seventeen t twenty-two. All the pants are involved in some kinda preachin' 'n the skirts wanna be preachers' wives somethin' fierce. Now we're mostly past the
everybody a-datin' everybody else stage by now 'n inta more serious commitments. Well, not really! Joan's dated all the pants, plus a few from another church down the way, and is presently engaged t Gary. This is her fourth engagement, of the which was once t each, Carlos 'n Ron. Carol likewise has dated 'em all, 'n then some, and is presently engaged t Gary. This is her third engagement, once of which was t Ron. Louise doesn't size up right t get caught up in this circle of things, t yer way of thinkin', being of a more independent nature herself. Got some substance, she has. But she's dated 'em all 'n had proposals form Carlos, Ron, 'n Gary, who are constantly datin' 'n pressurin' her. And that's where we enter the web -- smack dab! Carlos is a young, Spanish evangelist who travels a lot. He is presently engaged t be married t three different girls, who all have his rings. Fortunately they live in different parts of the state. He recently failed t show up at a (his) wedding ceremony. This is the third ceremony he's failed t show up in. He presently has another ceremony coming up in two weeks. Carlos mentioned last week, "Buying rings is really getting to be expensive. They all want their names engraved in them." Well, besides buyin' rings gettin' him down, things are warmin' up fer o1' Carlos around this neighborhood.
Ron's another young evangelist, a recent convert from another church, 'n a former rock 'n roll guitarist. As mentioned earlier, he's also been engaged t Joan 'n Carol 'n is now hot after Louise. He, likewise, is engaged t three other girls from other churches, has missed two ceremonies, and is presently sweating out a breech of promise suit with a non-church girl. Looks like things are warmin' up fer Ronnie too. Gary is one of the boys in the foster home. Right now he is presently engaged t Joan 'n Carol, but, as Joan is usually awfully busy with college 'n work lately, she seldom gets t church -- the same church that Carol goes t, but hasn't been able t attend lately due t work and family obligations. She lives way outta town with her mother 'n a lotta little brothers 'n sisters. He, likewise, gots the hots fer Louise. Gary is new t the preachin' game, but he's learnin' the ropes 'n workin' the angles. He finds public speakin' difficult, but they all encourage him on. Right now he's caught between the "swelled head" stage, drugged full of "lauds 'n praises", 'n bein' overwhelmed by all the "blessings of the Lord" -- the awe struck, little kid in the candy store stage. He's seen the Promised Land, 'n it is, indeed, flowin' with milk 'n honey. Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! Yeahhh!! Proposals are necessary 'cause ya can go a lot further on one proposal than on a gallon of dates. So, the pants spend most of their time together comparin' notes 'n tactics on how t get outta commitments, once you've sampled the wares. They
generally agree the old standbys ("God's way" 'r "The Lord's will") serve as well as any. The girls will buckle under 'n forgive under the "unfathomable ways of the Lord". Parents fall right in line also. One swoop. Gets 'em all. Yes, sir! One key'll get ya in 'n outta the cookie jar! But the pants also spend a lotta time figurin' 'n conivin' on how t nail Louise. Whew! Ya got Louise, it was dumpin' time fer them others. PRIME! PANT! PANT! They all knowed what God's will was, fer sure, a-squirmin' in their seats thinkin' about her; but convincin' her of that? Well, that was somethin' different! Fer the most part the skirts was as described, 'ceptin the one, Louise, who wasn't inta line gobblin' 'n submittin'. She didn't even fall fer the revelations, "The Lord has put us together. Told me so," line. Nope, the pants was climbin' the walls fer one unbendin', unyieldin'. They even got preachers 'n godly folk all around t try 'n convince her of her error. The skirts are usually busy swoonin', eatin' up lines, submittin', 'n forgivin'. They realize it's a tough business gettin' pants t the altar. Lots of competition. The skirts learn t be real competitive. The pants eat it up. Yes, sir! It's hard t resist all them suits 'n well-manicured everything, drippin' in piousity. Folks around, them what knows, God fearin' folks, can't praise 'r say enough good about the cream of the crop of America -- Carlos, Ron, 'n Gary. These guys was perfessionals in Good, Pure, 'n Amen, "Not like them other sinnin' Juvenile Delinquents
that desecrate the Sanctuary with their presence. The minister should send all of them hoodlums back to the institution where they belong. Ruins the spirit of prayer, singing, and worship. Ask anybody!" "Yep!" They rant on 'n on 'n on, them "God fearin' folks what knows." Now, if ya think we've really got offa the subject this time, jus' hold on. Picture this! Church loaded with righteousness. Not only righteous righteousness, but THE ONLY RIGHTEOUSNESS; and you better damn well get that clear before you step inta this kinda holiness, brother!! Service is movin' along, everybody takin' their rightful place on the right hand, lookin' out over all the anointed righthanders, smug, with satisfyin' accomplishments, as they view a purged sanctuary -- no sinners. Music, so pure 'n blessed, you can make holy candles outta the wax in yer ears. The big front doors swing open slowly, with intense, radiant sunlight illuminatin' one figure. Those inside turn around, but because of the bright sunlight in their eyes, they see only a radiant image, an almost biblical presence. A halo haze of reflected light surrounds the image; not unlike the long awaited 'n expected Second Comin' of the Lord. All inside feel confident that if this was "IT", "this would be where 'IT' was gonna happen -- 'Bout time too! Right in this church. The ONLY church where IT' could possibly happen." Jus' piss full of onlies. The doors quietly close, 'n as the haloed image slowly appears,
gasps can be heard throughout the pews. For there, materializin' outta the halo, as smooth silence, sure 'n commandin', eyes movin' only, stood "The Weasel" hisself, casin' da joint, Capone's right hand, top finger man, right outta the Twenties 'n prohibition, comin' right here inta this holiest of holies t set up his, "numbers racket, makin' book, pimpin' out, extortin', racketeerin', 'n gangster things." The worst of the heathen lot now stood before them -- in THEIR presence. Appalling! A snap of his fingers woulda brought a dozen thugs. The thought of it. More gasps! Their glory had withered away. They were all undone, unclean! She slowly turned around in her pew at the same time Benny's eyes lifted 'n caught hers. It was electric. Their eyes locked. For neither, there was nothin' else. With so much phony in the world today, a genuine product is recognized instantly, even by the phonies, as the real thing; no matter what the thing is. So, too, here, everybody in that church, at that instant, saw what they had coveted, lusted after all their lives, but had been denied them. There 'n then they all witnessed that rare, real thing that dreams are made of. Later, outside, she stood before him, breathin' tensely, quiverin', 'n nervously bitin' her lower lip. She looked inta his eyes 'n saw what she had looked so hard but in vain for --Quality. You name it, she saw it: integrity, sincerity, gentleness, principles. If she'da hadda hankerin' fer apple pie, why, it'd been there too. Yep, here was a man who
could claim the woman he wanted 'n stand up fer her, against all odds (Close there, kid.). All the while the good church folks was a-gnawin' 'n gnashin' their teeth, 'n the pants was a-cursin', eatin' their insides out with envy, covetousness, 'n ungratified lust. "How could she give herself to HIM?" "There's evil in the world!" Louise had, fer a time, been led down the wrong path, but finally she saw the light 'n junked the whole lot of 'em. Nobody came t their weddin'! Nobody visited their small house n their little baby, well not quit nobody--Proud as peaches they was a-showin ya the little tyke. Kinda a god-father thing, fer you folks still hangin in out there. That was the way they liked it. Louise wouldn't let 'em. She struck ya as havin' some mettle. Didn't let ya down. Got herself a man, she did. Together, now 'r on the prairie, in a long past era, they were 'n are the people that made America great. Benny was workin' hard 'n goin' t school on the side. T hell with the lot of 'em! Right, Louise? 'Bout this time Joan 'n Carol found out that Gary was engaged t both of 'em at the same time. T say they was rankled some, cut it short. As far as Joan was concerned, the Lord's ways weren't THAT mysterious, 'n Gary found out, real quick, about Joans will 'n Joans ways, when she dropped him cold. Cut him right off. Final! Carol, unfortunately, softened somewhat t his pleas 'n put him on probation fer a year: no dates with anyone, includin' herself, then straight t the altar on day 365. Ron 'n
Carlos kept advisin' him t junk her as good riddance t problems 'r that'd be the end of the good life; but Gary buckled under t Carol's demands. Durin' that time, Gary, who'd already quit school t get a full time job in order t pay fer a car 'n insurance in order t get t work, was seriously now tryin' t get good at preachin' but was findin' hisself lackin' most everything necessary. T top it off, he really didn't have nothin' much t say; 'n even those encouragin' him on can only listen t nothin' fer so long. He come over 'n asked ya once how he could keep the people in the church from goin' t sleep durin' his sermons. Lookin' at him, "Gary, do ya really wanna keep 'em awake? Think about it. Awake, they's creatin' problems. Say anything worth listenin' t 'n ya got more problems; even sometimes when ya don't say anything worth listenin' t, it's controversial 'n ya got more problems. Best let a sleepin' dog lie, Gary. Realize when yer ahead. Lesson worth learnin' -- lest ya got sand! A fella gets a catchy idea, maybe thinkin' it's his -- not much chance in that though -- but sayin' it comes off interestin'. Ya know what'll happen the next time 'n all the times thereafter when ya get up t preach? It'll be expected! Expected better each time, too! Ya gets t amusin' 'em 'n they expects t be entertained. Yer one catchy idea's gonna run thin quick; 'n if there's no more where that one came from -- fast, you'll get jus' like the rest of 'em, stealin'
other preacher's sermons, gettin' 'em outta books; 'n you know how ya hate t read books, Gary. Trapped like the rest of them pious scavengers, twistin' 'n rewordin' sermons what've been preached thousands 'n thousands of times. Most stale t start with -- no balls; but, when ya get desperate, Gary! Lots of real desperates out there, screechin' 'n stretchin' words fer holy insight effects. Remember, the people went t where they could hear any new thing. How many new things ya got, Gary? Piss 'n vinegar. Ya got piss 'n vinegar, Gary? Ya got sand? Right now they don't expect nothin', 'n that's all ya hafta give 'em. Ya got a good thing goin', Gary. Milk it. But if ya still wanna wake 'em up, give this a shot." He watched as ya tore a big brown paper bag in half 'n commenced t put yer thoughts t composin' somethin'. "This is whatcha call inspiration, Gary. Where it comes from is called controversial." He continued t watch as ya scribbled, jotted fer five minutes 'r so, 'n then ya handed it t him t read. "Run this by 'em. That'll wake 'em up; but after they's woke up, what're ya gonna do? What then, Gary?" He read it. A cute little somethin' on Samson. Harmless enough.
"Vengeance is mine", thus saith YOU Hah! A one sided truth -- a hypocrites brew!
You gimme this flesh, in the image of WHO?
It seethes with desire, t you nothin' new.
You hew at a whim 'n whack with glee, with that scurrilous sword fer all t see.
You've a penchant fer pout, t have yer own way, spoiled rotten it 'pears, though few will say, Fer fear of that temper we all like t see, on sodomy, incest, 'r a mind still free!
My God, what a wretch, what a despot are ye! The truth of the matter, jolly blood thirsty ya be!
I dally a bit, sackin' a wench, pitchin' the woo, no more'n a quickie, 'n I'm axed fer stew!
T have such power, with patience so shot, like it 'r not, it's what we've got.
Well, however it's done, truth, right 'r not, let's junk the words 'n sack this lot.
Jus' you 'n me Lord, while we sizzle with fire, cut loose with a little righteous desire.
Let's you 'n me Lord, jus' covet 'n lust, 'n release on these rascals what we fitfully must!
We'll both find that peace, that comes with the purge, that gratifyin' gasp, when you release the urge!
Jus' stick around Joe 'n we'll give 'em one helluva show!
Now I've had enough of this nasty stink, jus' once more gimme back my strength.
Oh ,I know I done wrong, 'n done little right
but jus' once more gimme favor in yer sight.
He wrapped them pillars with muscles of might he didn't need eyes, he had faith fer sight.
He flexed them muscles, didn't take much, Big Guy who moved mountains was in his touch.
Them pillars jus' slid, like they'uz on grease, 'n all life therein', jus' up 'n ceased.
Now, five times two, don't equal three, jus' like I weren't Samson, 'n he weren't me.
He was a mighty big man, 'n did mighty big things, but watch them haircuts, they got a deadly sting.
Ashes t ashes, dust t dust, be not deceived, ALL still lust!
He looked pale 'n started pointin' out all the things ya couldn't say in a sermon, 'n t others that'd hafta be changed. "Now, if, fer some moot point, that don't suit ya, Gary, try the angle of a dozen Christs, probably been more though; superior humanoids, somehow introduced 'n watched closely by the "Star" people. Tell 'em t think of the disruption a real star would have if it entered our tiny solar system. Use words like "Poof" 'n "Boom." Or run it through on the 'Christ as an outer space visitor' ticket." Poor o1' Gary was gettin paler 'n paler. "OK! OK! Ya need somethin' a little more conservative, down t earth here. Somethin' they can all associate with. Hey! Try visions 'n revelations, what with so many of the good folk hereabout tuned inta this frequency. Do it as a kinda workshop thing; ya know, proper interpretations 'n all. Lend a little credulity t their lies. O000PS! That was a slip, Gary. Supposed t be 'lives'. Sorry 'bout that. Yeh! Try the teacher angle. Maybe there's a little somethin' in it fer ya there, Gary. Start 'em out by lettin' 'em know that all them visions 'n revelations way back when, were probably nothin' more'n some guy tryin' t accurately record, with a very restrictive vocabulary, what he was a-seein' -- flyin' saucers, jet-type things spittin' fire, spinnin' wheels inside spinnin' wheels, you know, higher intelligence tryin' t communicate with us; probably not all 'Bleep bleep' comin' outta a turnip stalk-type critter. With some shiny glass helmets ya got halos, 'n with them tryin' t teach us
somethin' ya got angels comin' down t evangelize us primitives. Course, 'n here's where it gets interestin', Gary, seems these angels had the itch t get it on with the primitives. Think about it, Gary, all those tender, innocent, pretty, young primitives thinkin' they was gettin' it on with a god. Nothin' more'n visitors like you 'r us, Gary, a few years up the road, technologically speakin'. Thought that'd get yer attention; probably even work the o1' congregation up inta a frenzy of sort, heavin', pantin', gaspin', bitin' at the bit, 'n rarin' t get out there in them vineyards 'n fields, evangelizin' 'n doin' the Lord's work. Idea sorta appeals t ya, don't it, Gary, bein' a god 'n all? Well, one day we'll most likely be doin' our own visitin'. See that recruitin' poster right now: 'Yes, sir, young man, you too can become a god if you can master the simple basics of space physics, mass into energy. Be the first in your block to sign up. Remember, you too can become a god!' Hey! How's that one, Gary? Has it all: sex, visions, revelations, hope for the future! How's yer math, Gary? Pretty bad, huh. Sorry 'bout that. Ya woulda made such a good god, too. Whadda waste of talent! Not much inta givin' workshops, ya say? Understand! Understand! Not another word needs said. Gary! You're droolin', Gary! No! No! Not yer mouth, Gary! "Well least ya can do is quit harpin' about the world comin' t an end. Hey! Anytime they wanted, ZAP! They're friendlies out there, jus' waitin' fer us primitives t evolve inta a little more socially acceptable species.
"Anyway, Gary, you could get in on the ground floor on this one. Real prophet stuff here. Visions! You name it! Course, depends on how bad ya wanna wake 'em up. "Balls, Gary. Ya got balls? Piss 'n vinegar, Gary. Ya got Piss 'n vinegar? Sand, Gary. Ya got sand? Ya see, Gary, it's all words, twistin' 'n rewordin'. Yer gettin' the hang of it. You'll make a fine preacher. See? You don't really wanna wake 'em up, now, do ya? Let 'em sleep." Fortunately, Carol had balls, piss 'n vinegar, 'n sand 'cause Gary didn't. She needed 'em t endure all the nothin' as it got prematurely bald, pot-bellied, n in general, went t seed, if ya can picture "nothin'" goin' t seed. At least Willie, his brother, woulda kept the hearth more interestin', as the years would pass. U.S. Government Commodities, that's what made him tick; his very life's blood. U.S. Government Willie, the Commodity Kid. Peanut butter 'n jelly. Knew what he wanted 'n went straight fer it. Willie was not complicated; make some woman who didn't wanna cook, 'r didn't know how t cook, a fine husband. Day in 'n day out, breakfast was a large bowl filled half with peanut butter 'n half with jelly -- a cup 'r so each, straight. Fer juice he'd drink the heavy syrup from the U.S. Government canned fruit. When he was occasionally outta jelly, why he'd make do with a bowl of cereal 'n a cup of white sugar. Never bothered with the spoon, jus' poured the whole bowl onta his cereal. If it was available, he'd use coke 'r soda pop, instead of milk, on his cereal. Seen
him at times pour a whole cup of white sugar over his peanut butter 'n jelly breakfast, 'n wash it down, if it was available, with coke 'r soda pop. See, no cookin' necessary with a guy that can make do. Any of you gals out there interested? Lunch was peanut butter 'n jelly on white bread and, of course, washed down with cokes. In a pinch he could make do with white bread 'n butter heaped with white sugar. Three 'r four of these'd do. What can ya say? Hey! Is that creative 'r is that creative? Supper could be any of the wide 'n varied selections above 'r jus' whatever was served; usually somethin' t the effect of the salty, U.S. Government canned spam 'r beef stuff 'n heavily -- no, that's not the word --very, very, heavily -- Ahhhh, yes!, that's the word -- salted and, of course, washed down with fruit syrup and/or cokes. Course, t keep his strength up between meals, he'd snack some. At times seen him eat a whole jar of jelly, half a quart 'r so, one settin'. All the other kids was also heavy inta sugar, jelly, salt, white bread, 'n cokes; but Willie, he was somethin' special. All the other kids, 'ceptin' William, that is. He'd eat vegetables, when he could get 'em, no sugar, salt, white bread, cokes, 'r greasy foods -- 'bout starved. Educated elsewhere. Others laughed at him, but seemed logical, burp, belch, 'n stomachache-wise, but not practical, institution-wise. The strongest stomach survived, 'n Willie had the strongest stomach. The perfect specimen of the institutional product -- sugar 'n salt. Seen him eat a vegetable once. Well, sorta. Deduced it. Guess that's what was under all that drippin' peanut butter 'n jelly, a foot
long. Willie was probably experimentin', expandin' his peanut butter 'n jelly cuisine repertoire. Maybe he heard ya needed a vegetable t keep healthy 'n jus' got it outta the way, once 'n fer all, so's he'd not have t worry about it no more. Willie didn't walk. He shook, vibrated, jittered, blinked, 'n twitched wherever he went. Never figured he ever really knew what direction he was a-goin. At any given moment in time, every muscle was sprung every which way possible. Sure didn't wanna use the toilet seat after Willie took a leak. Wouldn't hurt t be careful which wall ya leaned up against either. Didn't need no music, jus' white sugar, jelly, 'n cokes. Seems he hadda have 'em. You'd seen guys goin' through heroin withdrawal before; near the same with Willie. Though there didn't seem t be much more t Willie than refined carbohydrates, under the peanut butter 'n jelly was a teenager who wouldn't steal, cheat, lie, 'r insult, respected adults 'n girls, paid back money borrowed, worked hard, 'n wouldn't be fooled by his older brother's sanctimonious deceitfulness; 'n with a firmness 'n sobriety told him so, even loaded up with all them refined carbohydrates. (You'da figured he'da been perpetually a little fermented, twenty t thirty proof at least.) Willie looks a little different now, all dressed up, doesn't he? He's sure a helluva lot more'n the "nothin'" Carol's got. She'll notice it by the hearth, as the years pass, if she hasn't already. It's all
in how ya look at things, right Willie? Let's drink t wherever we're at, Willie, what say? Pick yer rot gut STOMACH, bottoms up 'n drain 'er dry. Though the neighborhood folks were rich, they didn't hold it up against us 'r what the preacher was doin' with the estate, but the neighborhood folks' kids, well now, that was another matter. All, except a couple, was heavy inta flauntin' their opulence -clothes, cars, electrical gadgets, 'n money -- 'n whinin' about what they didn't have. Their parents wanted 'em t get educated 'n take over the business. Well, the education angle fell through fer most; 'n the parents, as businessmen, weren't that much of a bunch of fools t turn it all over t their whinin' irresponsibles. The parents, in the end, lost out. They had spent a lotta money 'n got only nothin', with a bundle of trouble 'n problems attached. Most, but not all. There were a few that took a different tack -- the neighbor adjoinin', fer example. The father had an investment firm 'n prospered 'n had fatted lambs; only in this case there was no prodigal son that needed recyclin' like most. Aside from necessities, food, 'n off the rack, economical value clothes, he gave him nothin' but knowledge 'n spent hours with that kid -- trainin', instructin', 'n passin' on. Nor was there any "seed" money t start him off tryin' his hand at investment strategies. Nope! He wanted t play with the bankroll, it hadda be his own. Probably the only rich kid ever in the history of this neck of the woods that ever touched his hand to a hand
mower that he hadda purchase with his own money from his paper route, on foot, until he got enough money saved up t buy his own bicycle. Most of the folks about, 'specially the other rich kids, said it was "cruel 'n inhuman"; there was some big attorney types around, so they knew about "cruel 'n inhuman". But, the kid 'n his father pressed on. A point in passin'. Knowin' the families pretty well, how they interacted, talked, 'n confronted each other, after a few years of observation, he was near the only kid that had any respect fer his father 'n what he was doin', spendin' all that time with him. The other kids got the bucks 'n things -- he got the father 'n knowledge. Well, t make a short story long, by the time he'd got enough money saved up t make a small investment, he'd worked, sweated, saved, studied, 'n had daily scrutinized the Wall Street Journal, 'n the fruits of his labors now amounted t a $16,000 portfolio. Don't know what devaluation 'n inflation have done t $16,000 fer you folks way up in the future, but way back here in the 1950s, wages above $4,000 a year was livin' high. Anyway, we'd discuss strategies of risk vs. profit, shares splittin', new companies, blue chips, margins, long term bonds, and, in general, things of no interest whatsoever t kids, 'specially rich kids. He'd studied hard in school, 'n by the time we parted, he'd been accepted t a top university; seems there was even a scholarship thrown in, much t the envy 'n disgust of the other fathers, who were lucky t keep their kids outta jail 'n offa drugs, with few
universities wantin' t take the risk of enrollin' 'em. All this has really no relation t anything, nor will it affect in any manner, now 'r in the future, the way kids are raised; jus' somethin' in passin'. This here's another short story made long, needin' a little stretchin' 'n milkin', so's ya can get what there is outta it. The preacher 'n his wife could play 'bout every musical instrument there ever was, but ya shoulda heard him on the ivories. Honkytonk heaven. The top gospel singin' groups in the nation was after him fer years t join 'em. Still are. Again, he missed his callin'. Stretchin' 'n milkin' it right along, he had an old guitar he never used. Logical, stands t reason. if you had such a warped-necked, cracked-bodied, 'n rusty-stringed eyesore, would you use it? Anyway, come across it one day 'n somethin' came over ya as ya was examinin' it 'n eyin' the potential of figurin' this thing out. A few days later the preacher exclaimed that that was the worst clatter he'd ever heard 'n with prospects lookin' pretty dim fer you ever gettin' the hang of it; leavin' a partin' comment, "Try tuning it." "Tuning it? Ohhhh!" So, with a warped neck, cracked body, four rusty strings out of tune, it was "off t see the wizard". Picked up a chord book 'n an old church hymnal lyin' about 'n commenced figurin' things out. It was hit 'n miss there fer awhile as t what was goin' on, but what yer dealin' with here is determination like there never was determination before. Soon you'd figured out all the notes on the guitar, how t read music, 'n build chords by sight,
usin' yer own mathmetical system you'd worked out. Readin' was readin'. Words 'r dots. All the same! Course, most guitarists around here prided themselves, not only in playin' by ear, but, oddly enough, in bein' illiterate 'n not bein' able t read music. A little twist there. Anyway, a few was pretty good, them with good ears 'n practiced a lot. The rest? Well, ignorant is ignorant, whatever yer doin'. Preacher 'n others'd say that ya hadda play fer years before ya got the hang of it, makin' it come out right. Well, that was no problem. Mathmetically solved in a jiff. Negative integers, that's what you'd use. Example: Supposin' a decent practice schedule was an hour a day. Well, if you'd start today 'n practice two hours, why it'd be the same as startin' yesterday 'n practicin' one hour a day, right? And, if ya started today 'n practiced three hours, why it'd been the same as startin' the day before yesterday practicin' one hour a day. Ya got the idea? So in order t catch up, ya put in a minimum of three hours every day, often goin' six t eight, at times over twelve. You could always find someplace quiet t practice on that big estate. Then there's somethin' t be said 'bout not needin' more'n a couple hours sleep a night. So, in no time flat, when you'd get together with some other guitarist 'n he'd say, "Hey! Where did you learn that stuff?" so's not t make him feel bad, you'd say, "Oh, jus' been playin' fer years. Musta picked it up someplace."
Foolishly, you'd quickly expanded yer investigation inta this labyrinth of music thing, only t find yerself hopelessly caught up 'n drug, arrangement by arrangement, composer by composer, stumblin', unmercifully hurled by yer own traitorous willingness t seek more than can be found. Then they started showin' up. Hardly an author's characters sent t amuse, these. Ya start playin' these guys' music 'n right now, faster'n the mob can send hit men, there they are, 'n it's stompin' time with hot boots all over things inside ya never knew ya had. Ya start messin' with them little black dots on the music score, 'n ya don't know who's gonna show up fer dinner. "Yeh, yeh, yeh!",,,,ya say, "What's the harm of it?" First, it's some local country guy, Acuff 'r Snow, harmless enough, showin' up at yer door, plinkin' a forlorn "Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song". "Yeh, yeh. No big deal." Next it's George 'n Ira Gershwin 'n all their baggage. Then a few of their buddies drop by. Hah! The word gets around 'n next it's the furry creatures, you know, Tchaikovsky, Ludwig 'n their ilk; 'n as if that's not bad enough, jus' when ya start thinkin' what's the neighborhood comin' to, with all these guys hangin' round, ya look over the rise 'n here comes hordes of Country, Blues, Jazz, 'n Classical crazies; then ya know fer sure the neighborhood's all shot t hell. At all hours they's a-comin'. No thought if you'd like t catch a wink of shuteye. No, sir. They all keep comin', comin', comin', but they NEVER, none of 'em, ever leave! Each one on fire, bein' stoked 'n
whipped up by the beat of his own peculiar, lunatic frenzy. Pulsing! Pounding! To that cadence of self-consuming exhaustion. Each one more fanatical than the rest, wrenching 'n tugging inside things in abandoned hysteria. Pulsing! Pounding! To that rhythm of deranged, psychotic glee of blazing, erupting, holocausts. Each one igniting 'n exploding bits 'n chunks of yer soul inta charred 'n crispy cinders, as they greedily grasp 'n tear with hot searing tendrils of flaming passions, ripping, shredding, 'n clubbing failing senses inta a numb, pulpy stupor. Thrashing heathen savages? Hardly. Inflamed Doctors of Madness -- ALL! Pulsing! Pounding! To that chant of unsated delirium. To rush in impulsively, unknowingly, unwisely t view, or more foolish yet, t partake of this devil's, Black Sabbath carnage, would find yerself shrieking, with last drops of reason, unheard, above the writhing 'n wailing, "My God, man. These who partake in this ghastly bedlam are dead! Some centuries. Read the history books, newspapers!" Don'tcha believe it. They'll tell ya anything t make a sale. Morticians 'n Encyclopedia salesmen. Don't believe it, not a word! Careful ya don't get torn t shreds in this melee! And you, dear reader, thought you had problems with guests stayin' over. Fer bein' dead, these guys sure packed a punch! A disruptin' punch, at that, t a life that's already not on the surest footin'. Nope! No communicatin' with the dead here. These guys was alive 'n unleashed. Task masters that didn't mess around, "Yes, sir! No, sir, Massa Bach! No mo' sleep! No, sir! Practice, practice, practice, till da Lord do carry
me home!" Get chummy with this bunch 'n "Poof", up ya go in smoke! "What's a fella t do," ya ask, "with such self-destructive new acquaintances?" Course, may be no concern t you folks out there at all. May be it's not given t all t hear that PULSE! That POUNDING! That CADENCE! But, the BEAT goes on, only now there's one more slave. Often thought how "We the people" 'n "Fourscore 'n seven years ago" things woulda hit ya if they was penned in score 'n not in words. Probably be so much "Truth 'n Justice" burnin' in humanity, injustice'd be singed even thinkin' a-rearin' its head; 'n we'd probably need a tat t keep things balanced out. Great ideas don't need words; dots'll do nicely. The meanin' might not come off exactly the same fer everybody, but it wouldn't be hard imaginin', "conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal," 2 burnin' with a fire, hitherto unleashed on mankind! A bit of homespun there. Learned a thing 'r two 'bout buildin' 'n rebuildin' guitars from a guitarist who made them custom fer the top artists 'n who'd also served an apprenticeship as a violin maker. Put them skills right t work, ya did. Jobs 'n school went together. The school was big a two-year high school 'n two-year college on the same campus --with teachers usin' all manner of audio visual 'n electrical gadgetry in their classrooms; 'n gadgets gotta be kept runnin'. During the day
it was a class fer credits, keepin' projectors, tape recorders 'n piles of other equipment -lots of it old -- crankin' away; 'n at the college night classes, it was fer bucks. The money was good, but the classes were better: college level Electronics, Chemistry, Biology, Zoology, Physics, Engineering, 'n an occasional odd duck. The instructors soon found out that you were more interested in their classes than their students were. It was load-up time. We had excellent discussions, "Ah, yes! The projectionist has another view point to share with us on motion," or fill in the blank __________________ : gear ratios; energy conversion losses; caloric/B.T.U. of the sun as an energy source (that one got a lotta laughs, but not near as many as the manufacture of sugar 'n oil production in sewerage wastes usin' fresh water algae, i.e. chlorella, The odd duck opened up another perspective. This was an outside club that used a small auditorium. The members were retired folk who liked t travel all over the world, 'n every so often they'd get together 'n show home films of whoever was in town at the time. Good stuff! You name it, they'd been there, reelin', 'n crankin' away. Met some different ways of lookin' at things, from solo adverturists t two o1' gals, sisters, who'd walked across Africa in their 60's. Feisty critters, they was. The hotel 'n tourist industries around the world would've been hard pressed t squeeze a nickel outta some of these ducks. Hungry? Oughta be somethin' growin' 'r crawlin' around thatcha can
crunch on. Tired? Roll it out on the Serengeti Plains 'n see who wakes up with ya in yer sleepin' bag. Hey! A fella could learn t like these folks real fast, right off. T think, ya got paid fer attendin' these classes 'n meetin's. Looks like you'd jus' come up with some new scam. School was school, though some of yer instructors also taught college classes; bringin' more t the situation, as college instructors kept a little more abreast in their fields, whereas high school teachers usually went t seed in theirs, roots 'n all. Same lesson plans 'n notes, year after year. Evolution was changing animal, social n solar systems, but not their notes. Originals. Chiseled in stone. Roots! Wasn't only the old learned sorts; you could be young, too, 'n also have roots. Due t yer bouncin' around, ya wound up over eighteen (by a couple of weeks) at the beginnin' of yer last year; which brought t light a couple interestin' situations. First, it was no problem, lest yer a ward of the court. The legal system hadda run this one by a few times before it sunk in what this kid was tryin t do: petition the courts t be able t finish high school before they gave him his walkin' papers. Yer P.O. said he'd see what he could do. He'd get it started. Reviewin' the circumstances, the best approach he figured wasn't pushin' fer no verdict, yea 'r nay. Didn't want no answer. Nope! Get it tangled up in the court system -- in paperwork! There are more important things on the docket than education, which is t your advantage. No matter how long it takes, they're
not gonna throw any court thing outta court. Chances are you'll be graduated 'n long gone before it even, if ever, comes up t be heard, let alone acted upon. Looks like he saw the best possible solution as no solution. Kinda like usin' a filibuster t pull it off. No precedents here. He'd stop by, now 'n again', t share tidbits on how it was goin' 'n cute comments from those on high, up in the big county house: "Highly irregular;" "Novel;" "This is the first time such a request has been made;" t "HE WHAT?" Well, t yer way of thinkin', you'd made it this far, be a shame not t finish the last lap of yer sentence, doin' time. Most court order kids junk school first chance, excuse, 'r reason they get 'r vice versa. Second, ya had some extra time on yer hands yer last year, as far as classes went, 'n ya tried t get inta the college Zoology class. You'd already read the text, 'n the instructor said it would be fine with him; but the high school counselors really got lathered up: "Oh dear. Oh dear! Unheard of! Unheard of!" "Goodness me, no." That was an emphatic, rigid who does he think he is "NO" -- even with bein' the top in yer high school Biology class. There were rules 'n regulations against such things, among not the least of which was that you hadda have a high school diploma or be eighteen to attend, but not eighteen in high school. The counselors took it upon themselves t make this their personal battle t show the youth of America, mostly the Beatniks 'n Zen Buddhists hangin' around campus, that, "We've got rules against such things;" after three failed attempts, the school system won. So there ya have it. They sure, "put that kid in his place. Have you ever?" 'n "Hrumph!" Ya shoulda seen the high drop out rate of kids
they couldn't no way convince t stay in high school; 'n them that did finish, the low percentage they could get t continue on 'n go t college. Makes sense, huh? Kid wants t learn, ain't normal. Zoology would only have been the beginnin'. Whatcha had yer sights set on was "meat": Cellular Biology, Bacteriology, 'n a budding science called "Genetics"; but that was not how it turned out. Ya find somethin' interestin', 'n it's against the law. Who'da ever figured it -- Zoology, the big scarlet "Z"! Best jus' t finish yer sentence without hopes of gettin' anything outta it 'n junk the whole tangled mess of peddlers 'n hoarders of knowledge. Right now you were still confronted with the bleak prospects of havin' t listen t ancient notes 'n lesson plans. Blaaaaah! Yuck! Maybe someday kids'll revolt against sludge 'n meaningless drill. Oh! There was one small incident here, of no import. After havin reached the breakin point of this sludge n meaningless drill in a math class, ya finally stood up n shouted, Stop! Stop!, No more! No more! Somethin has gone terribly wrong. This is not how its supposed t be. The rigidly staid, grill n drill instructor, now bugeyed, mouth agape, stood dumbfounded n shakin with disbelief that anyone would dare question; bringin back memories of the Lieutenant. The students, not realizin what was goin on, most still asleep, mumblin, Huh. Continuin along, We should be applyin all thisrecreatin these critical situationsn studyin the minds, philosophies n thought patterns that led those t where these breakthroughs were possible sos we can continue where they left off n create new ones. Its not jus memorizin endless theorems, words. He immediately, red-faced, stutterin n sputem
flyin, ordered ya out of the class n never t return. Later the superintendent n him tried t get ya t apoligize r get tossed outta school fer this unprecedented, n never before heard of, outburst. GAG! Nobody had ever questioned? Wrong, folks, wrong! But after another of yer barrages, the superintendent agreed that somethin must be done about the boredom, sleepin students, fallin grades, high drop-out rate n no interest in, not only math, but everything. They literally didnt have the slightest idea of what t do r where t start; even though youd explained it all out t em ; n were confused even more by bein informed that no apology would be forthcomin, no matter what the consequences fer sayin somethin that jus hadda be said. It all went right over their heads, Huh? Ph.D lobotomies! The rest of high school life wasn't lookin' much better. By now they'd even managed, by connivin' -- collusion's more like it t get ya t compete in gymnastics. Besides the high schools', ya wound up competin' in numerous college 'n national meets. A fella, under no circumstances -- forbidden, verboten, under penalty of law -couldn't take college Zoology, but they'd sure, in a flash, shove ya up there t compete against 'em. Oh, the records looked good, impressive, even got a scholarship. Lots of interestin' things happened, but something had been lost, violated. It had meanin' when it was only you against yerself. This last week was all wrapped up in a newspaper article, a handful of pennies 'n Hank all woven together, if ya wanna look at it that way.
The newspaper article dealt with a local scientist at one of the numerous U.S. Government research labs about. Stretchin' his legs, followin' a small stream of chemical wastes from the facilities on a mornin' break, he noticed a tiny rivulet that branched off the main stream 'n trickled inta a wooded area. Curiosity led him t a small hidden pond. Surprised him some t encounter frogs 'n tadpoles of all shapes 'n sizes, replete with extra tails, eyes, legs, etc., etc., etc; you know, the usual. It was a small article, not needin' much space; put in more fer the curiosity seekers, a little local color, no more. Next were the pennies. Part of yer ballistics testin' had evolved inta a game of sorts. If ya had the twenty-five yard, basement pistol range t yerself, ya could do a few simple tests with velocities, impact effects of various metals, 'n the like. The procedure was t turn the target around backwards 'n tape nickels, dimes, 'n pennies in a row from side t side, 'n pulley the target back out in position, then pick 'em off free hand with yer .22, .38, 'n .45 caliber handguns. Copper pennies proved the best; bein' less alloyed, ya had more control of ballistics n statistics. The .38 n .45 calibers only dented 'em, due t much slower velocities 'n greater impact areas, but the .22 tore a ragged hole right through 'em. This testin' not only answered questions but aided yer practice immensely. Standin' there with pistol restin' in yer outstretched hand, sorta floatin' in space, calmly sightin' in on a target you could hardly see twenty-five yards away, ya gently squeezed the trigger. Took some doin' at first t get one outta ten, but soon three t five outta ten was common; the record bein' eight outta ten. With no one there, you could go collect
the pennies fer later examination. The bent 'n drilled pennies started accumulatin' in quite a heap as time went by. The third was Hank; remember him, the innocent lookin' kid that hung around with Benny when they first came t the preacher's place? Had 'em all fooled, near all anyway. The guns were kept in a travelin' case in the preacher's closet in his bedroom. Well, Hank, managed t rip 'em off 'n got caught in a hold-up. The police had caught him 'n confiscated the pistols. Now these weren't jus' any o1' pistols. These were the finest match pistols available, custom stocks, accurized, muzzle brake, precision adjustable sights, 'n yer own gunsmithin' smoothin' up the mechanisms. Numerous calls revealed that, though the police had confiscated 'em from Hank, they were nowhere t be found. They had jus' disappeared. In the labyrinth from arrestin' officers t evidence room, they had "poof" vanished. Guess it was jus' too much temptation; but even though there was them that looked the other way in things of this nature, ya figured them same would lend a hand if ya needed it. There was no ill will harbored against the police as they'd dealt more'n fair 'n honest with ya in the past. Anyway, nothwithstandin' the vast amount of evidence that makes it t the courts, these guys still had yer votes. Nothin' more than prioritizin' values. "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" (2) came first; after that, the shoebox. Gunsmithin', mechanisms, 'n ballistics had become an obsession of sorts. A big game. A game in yer mind fer better, more efficient mechanisms 'n diversified projectiles: wide impact concussion slugs, of different materials, miss the target but still
get yer guy -- like stunnin' fish; stacked 'n multiple slugs that created patterns at different yardages; drilled slugs that created different levels of whining frequencies. If a mosquito can give ya the jitters, think what one of these things would do buzzin' by yer ear 'r ricochetin' offa walls, pressin' Mach 3. Scare the pee outta a guy. Sure wouldn't be much thinkin', plottin', 'r schemin' goin' on with a swarm of these critters pesterin' ya. No, most likely the poor felon'd be pretty well preoccupied with jus' dumpin' his load -messin' in his pants. Smell'd be awful as they carted him away in the patrol car. Be a believer, fer sure. Might surprise him how much, as he's sittin', years later, on a calm, summer afternoon at a quiet picnic 'r funeral, 'n suddenly rises, arms wavin' hysterically, screamin', "I surrender!! I give up! I give up!!" -- as a mosquito zips by -- most likely messin' his pants, too. There was a realization, that even though ya were havin' fun inventin' this stuff, jus' fer the fun of inventin', 'r maybe even t be used by the "good guys", that the "bad guys" would sure have fun usin' this stuff too. So the long- term scenario was best not t invent 'em, 'n those already invented, uninvent 'em. The obvious was there, confrontin' ya. Lookin' around, you was jus' one, small, insignificant player in a game that had turned inta a mania of creatin' better 'n more sophisticated everything, t play with. Toys 'n no more: cars, T.V.'s, electrical doohickies that do things soooooo, soooo naturally, airplanes, 'n things that go BOOM in bigger 'n better ways. Lookin' down at that pile of pennies, 'n who you was a-havin' fun puttin' holes in 'n readin' that article about "extra tails, eyes, legs" 'n rememberin' way back t another
pond of bent froggies, the thought did enter yer mind that, if we's not too careful, we might get caught up with our toys 'n pretty soon it's all a game that three legged, two tailed, seven toed, four nosed, three lipped, half-baked folks play a mile underground in slime mold, with their one-armed, bent, purple finger. The preacher, as of late, 'n again, had bridged the topic that if ya wished t pursue university -- through medical school, engineerin', 'r whatever -- everything would be taken care of. His family was large ' n influential in the southland. And, likewise, not t mention the arrangements the "Kid's" father had made. The local college also offered a scholarship; but after readin' the forms: names 'n dates of all schools attended, 'n references from past teachers 'n administrators. Hey, that'd sure make interestin' readin' between all the gaps 'n every other place bein' Juvie: "Unfit for society"; Juvie; "A menace!"; Juvie, etc., etc., etc. The records could sure make good headlines: "Four Spanish Students Hospitalized!"; "Latin Element in School Ravaged. Victims Often Silent!"; "Three Spanish Youths Severely Beaten!"; "Who is responsible?"; "What is our government doing?"; "We pay taxes"; "Spanish Community in Fear as Acts of Violence Terrorize Their School Children!"; "Is it true that there have been over two dozen Latin youths savagely attacked over the past term?"; "When will this violence end?"; "Parent's Complain Bitterly 'Our children are not safe from being attacked on campus."; "My poor child, so savagely beaten. Nothing but a wild animal could have done that much damage."; "What have our schools come to?"; "Rising fears among Latins of increased KKK activities as racial reprisals sweep their sector'"; "Will
the Jews be next?"; "Police break up mob action on campus as parents assault school with clubs and pipes to rid dangerous element! Militant parent comment, 'Our deep, rich, cultural heritage is at stake."; "P.Y.A. demands action!"; "Parents urge their children to band together in groups to protect themselves from these brutalizing attacks."; "Will America ever be safe again?". Sorry 'bout that. Got carried away with a little local color there. Well, the school forms fer the scholarship wanted t know. You wanted t ferget! Besides, ya wanted t continue yer studies, research, 'n inventin' 'n perhaps meet other seekers of knowledge, 'n school was definitely not the place fer this. Best t fade inta anonymity. The church members had really got their dander up lately -- hemorrhoids all over the place -- about not wantin' the kids attendin' church no more 'cause they was sinners. Even though the kids was real good in services, no doubt about it, they was indeed sinners. Done some good sinnin' they did --the kind that most good church folk jus ' dream about committin', lyin' awake, late at night. 'Bout that time, the head deacon lost yer Civil War muzzle loadin' rifle 'n all yer deep sea fishin' tackle, that happened t be over at his house fer a few days, in an all night crap game with other church officials; 'n his wife had left him, as a result of it. Her leavin' him probably didn't have much t do with his gamblin', least not with other people's property. Heavens no! Probably more in line with him a-gamblin' away the family home; 'n probably even a little more in line, in order t raise more money t stay in the crap game, he was offerin' her up, at so much a whack, t any interested parties
with the cash. Now, bein' as she was a well put together package, though a humble 'n modest homemaker who did what she could t make her husband happy, wouldn'tcha know it that they was a-linin' up frothin'. Before she had time t even realize what was happenin', in the state of shock that she was in, she was carted off t the bedroom in an overwhelmin' stupor, 'n there SHE WAS OVERWHELMED by it all -- what had really happened, 'n what was NOW really happenin'. Well, as frothin' goes, 'n her finally realizin' she had done everything possible, as a hostess, t keep her guests entertained 'n happy, she ran outta the house screamin', 'n her guests were now complainin' that the kids were sinners. Oh! The detailed account? Gary, who worked with the head deacon as a partner in their contracting business, was jokin' about it, as he'd been over at their house that night. Said they were likkered up, as usual, pretty heavy. Bit seedy there, wouldn'tcha think? By the way, Gary worships the ground his partner walks on; can do no wrong! Gettin' a better picture of what's in store fer Carol, are ya? Meanwhile, the preacher's wife was havin' a kinda nervous breakdown -- due t the never endin' flow of gossip about his supposed affairs by those who fed, nurtured, 'n sustained themselves on this crud (she mentioned once that she "wished he was that virile"), 'n three temporary preachers were each formin' a coalition against each other 'n her husband t take over the church. But, the preacher was hangin' in there, against his wife's wishes, 'n was now hittin' ya up fer $200.00, the exact amount registered in yer bank passbook in yer drawer, t buy a new suit, of the which he already had over sixty suits, t attend this big church to-do. Clothes was t him as heroin was t an addict. His
church world was comin' t an end around him, but he still had his vices that needed attendin' to. Well, if you remember, it was his vices that made him liveable. Anybody out there who wouldn't pay such a piddlin' sum t make someone liveable -- husband, wife, teenage son, 'r daughter? Thought not. Philosophizin' aside, this left ya flat broke, with you a-leavin' fer good in two days. The preacher's brother 'n father had both had nervous breakdowns 'n were outta the preachin' business; 'n now, at age 31, his doctor had informed him, fer the fifth time, that his days were numbered -- fast, due t high blood pressure, tension, 'n overweight. The common ingredient of all three preachers was jus' congregations of "good, God fearin', church members". It does appear that the rat is finally escapin', but with social graces somewhat limited t a life with thugs, pimps, rapists, extortionists, arsonists, murderers, thieves, felons of all sorts, psychos, mishaps, scourges of society, 'n general depravities; 'n parental guidance coming from perverts, queers, sadists, molesters, religious dingbats, 'n sickos (not that they are not sterling peers, all -- mother's choice); it looks like a case of, "You can take the kid outta the country, but ya can't take the country outta the kid." In a nutshell, the rat is indeed escapin', but the bottom line, he is still a rat! Read the records yerself. Society eventually turns its own creations back upon itself. Heh, heh, heh, heh!! "Ahhhh! And what of the Beast?" you say. Well, long time ago, when ya really needed someone 'r somethin', he jus' showed up, right there on yer doorstep. Wasn't no God showed up, walkin' on no water t yer rescue from all these good folks beatin',
poundin','n hollerin' from the sidelines, "Get him! Get him!" Awesome, he was, in valor! Sorta like a faithful o1' dog comin' t yer rescue. A guy jus' don't toss somethin' like that out in the cold, no matter how "disagreeable" he may appear t some. Nope! He wants t hang around, more'n welcome. "But," you say, "he hardly fits into our Christian society, so messy and untidy." Well, does not the Christian need his God t hew asunder the ungodly 'n nonbeliever, 'n the Muslim his Allah t smite down the infidel? Are we not all now, with freedom, permitted our own trinkets? You know, this Bill of Rights thing. Guess that sorta means no more forcin' 'n beatin',don't it? Settled! Beast stays. Fella could get t like this "We the people" stuff. Final! All right with you guys walkin' on water out there? Already it's RAT-1, Christians-O. Hey! That means a fella can go out in the woods 'n do abominable things: create odes t peace 'n calm, fer a start! Hey! Gottcha there! No sneakin' up! Ya like that, huh? Pretty fast on the draw with that first amendment. That one really pulls yer teeth? Packs a whallop? Now, now, now! Put it down. No more slats, switches, belts, planks, 'n closets. None of that right hand shit out here. Sic a chipmunk on ya, 'n he's got friends, too -- Italian friends! Frustrating? We know. We know. Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Sacrilege! No one seems t understand, care? Yer right. Who gives a flyin' fig? And, ya know, worldwide, yer probably not even #One, Mr. Big. Think the rice eaters gotcha there. And yer sayin', "Who the hell was out of their mind and gave this obnoxious incalcitrant his freedom?" Really eats on ya, huh? Better straighten up 'n get yer act together. Too much bad publicity. Need a good Public Relations man? Know this used car salesman.
Put a nice little package together fer ya. Hey, but ya definitely gotta stay away from them Crusades, smitin', 'n hewin'. Folks hereabouts take a dim view t such, folks out here in the woods -- you know, the squirrels 'n birds. Scores lookin' better: RAT-3, Christians-O. Right up there with the lions. Yup! Every rat's gotta have his Beast. Can't all walk on water, ya know; but the Beast helps. Besides, methinks, upon further scrutiny, he may have another hat 'r two, the Beast -- perhaps many! One cannot help but wonder if Van Gogh didn't toil with him, as did the tormented Michelangelo. If Gandhi can pacify him, Tchaikovsky titillate, 'n Brahms soothe, is there no place fer us who toil under the humblin' shadows of Leonardo, who learned t use him so well? What say ya t that Mr. Edison, Franklin, Carver? Who knows?! Perhaps they were all escaped rats?? There'd been good folks that'd popped up every now 'n again t help ya keep afloat. Really don't need many of 'em. A few seems t work out nicely. Too much help ain't that helpful! Yer P.O.called the day ya graduated. "Well, it looks like this is it. So long and good luck." Lookin' back, there'd been a few ups 'n downs. Met some good folks. Leavin' with ill will towards none. Done a bit of travelin'. All in all, it was a good education. Better'n most. You'd put in yer time. Served yer sentence fair 'n square. The future was ahead of ya. Uncertain fer sure. No guarantees. No crystal balls. The past didn't help much; lest ya wanted t live in it. This freedom's a skin of yer teeth thing at best. Bull by the horns all the way.
Thus began the great folly. Goin' someplace, ya didn't know where 'r how. Only a-knowin' that, wherever it was, it was out there 'n was loaded with things that hadda be knowed fer no other reason than that. A kinda quest of sorts. T seek knowledge. After yer bout with the education system, college was definitely not in the cards -- scholarships 'n the preacher's urgin' notwithstandin'. Best t steer clear of institutional canned learnin' Guy'd be a fool t want more of the same. Burn yer bridges. Cut yer losses. Maintain yer anonymity, 'n a guy stood a good chance of goin' through life unnoticed, undisturbed -- fergotten. Open yer mouth, 'n more'n likely the fool'd come out. Keep 'er shut boys! It'll attract no flies 'n keep 'em wonderin' -- not knowin' fer sure.
CHAPTER 28
Preacher had a brother with a sawmill down South. That seemed as good a place t start as any; though he kept pluggin' 'n pleadin' college, Medical School, Engineering --whatever, man! Options considered. Sawmill acceptable. College unacceptable. Oh, fer whatever it's worth, permission t finish High School still hadn't come through yet. Hitched a ride down South with Carlos 'n Ron. Things had warmed up pretty much fer 'em around here, what with girls, parents, 'n legal papers huntin' 'em down hereabouts. They figured it was time t seek greener pastures t do the Lord's work.. Greener pastures in other states that is. Well, fer 2,000 miles it was giggles 'n plannin' when they found out how many churches there was down South. Got t talkin' like this was some kinda special missionary work they was about t set out on. Savin' souls fer the Lord. 'Specially young womenfolk souls. Felt this was their special callin'.
Couldn't hardly wait t start harvestin' in the vineyards of the Lord. They wasn't gonna let no Louise get away from 'em this time, pantin' 'n squirmin' in their seats. Well, the '50's had just ended, 'n Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, 'n Arkansas was interestin' places t be in, in an interestin' time, t begin the year of the Rat. Turn the Rat loose upon its creator. Met lots of folks, poor 'n strugglin', 'n those a-helpin' 'em -- struggle that is. Makin' sure they struggled real good. With the poor blacks, ya had many a conversation in their shacks 'r wherever. "Man, bein' black, ain't nothin' ya can do 'bout that. Bein' black 'n dumb, well, that's somethin' ya can do somethin' 'bout. Hey, what's that sign say?" They laugh, "Why, Whites Only. You dumb 'r somethin'?" More laughin' all round. "See, already you can read. You may not be as dumb as they'd like ya t think ya are. Say ya ain't got no schools, 'n them ya do have ain't got nothin' --teachers, books, materials? Well, it's all in how a fella looks at things. You folks don't know how fortunate ya are. Why, if ya had a teacher, she'd probably be some fat, o1', ugly white woman remindin' ya of yer place, 'n religious all t hell. Daily, with her well-worn, time-honored, touchin, 'n near scripture, 'God don't make no mistakes, but you blacks are as close to one as hes come.' Yep, that'll make ya feel real good inside fer sure -all day -- every day. And, if ya think the white bosses is bad, wait'll ya meet their kids: rich doctors', lawyers', preachers', businessmen's 'n politicians' kids. Nope! You ain't
met nothin' yet. You don't know how fortunate you folks are in not havin' t go t school. Why, right off, you can teach yerself t read, write, 'n think faster 'n better'n they can in schools. Be way ahead of 'em in no time flat. Top of the class 'n not even havin' t go. Sure be a site more enjoyable, too. Recommend a few books t get ya started. Folks you'd like t meet. Be slow 'n pluggin' at first, but these folks gets a-hold of ya, 'n ya don't wanna miss nothin'. Learnin's the most fascinatin' 'n interestin' thing goin' on around anywhere. Yep, don't know how fortunate ya are. Best t steer clear of them schools. Ain't nothin' goin' on in there thatcha can't learn in half the time, 'n without the bad taste. Us third worlders gotta learn t do fer ourselves. That's our heritage -- helpin' each other along. 'Sides, it ain't all as bad as yer supposed t think it is. There's folks out there, white as the sheets them others is wearin', that'll help, wanna help, regardless. When ya gets right down t it, there's probably a far sight more of 'em than ya can see right now; seein' things the way yer supposed t see things; 'n there's probably a far sight less of 'em wantin' them signs 'n things kept stirred up as yer supposed t believe. Get a pencil 'n paper 'n start takin' count. Be a good beginnin' in yer writin' career." This turned out t be the beginnin' of givin' away hundreds of books as ya wandered about. Doors was always open t a fellow -- "one who knowed his place" in society 'n on the bus, but maybe not too sold on the seatin' arrangements!
There was other folks in other states, most doin' what they could jus' t get by, caught up in how things should be. Mostly centerin' around two chickens in every pot, whether them workin' harder 'r the government givin' 'em what was somehow, rightfully theirs. A few, however, seemed entirely oblivious of the general way things should oughta be, not bein' caught up in the "how many chickens can possibly be stuffed inta one pot" race, 'n spent their energies on other ways of lookin' at things. There was an old cursin' logger, along with the help of a bunch of equally cursin' longshoremen, up in the cold Northwest who went silently about his cursin' way feedin' the poor 'n bums. The winters were bitter, 'n scaldin' hot pea soup, plates of strong onions, 'n day old bread kept many alive 'n afloat through hard times. Longshoremen made sure there was enough "broken" bags of peas 'n beans on the docks fer the old logger 'n a couple of his down 'n outers t stoke the life back inta many a depressed body. This wasn't no religious organization, with hungry stomachs havin' t wade through sermons. Nope. Jus' human bein's helpin' human bein's get by. Ya found yerself, many a cold night, cookin', servin', helpin, 'n listenin' t a hundred variations of hard times. Soup was damn good, too! Onions'd set ya back some, though. Wheeeew! No askin', pleadin', beggin', bandwagon hooplah here. Saw the need 'n did what they could. They probably never even heard of a Gandhi, but they got his vote.
Another guy was fightin' a losin' battle, 'n he knew it, but kept right on apluggin' along. He worked as a counselor, of sorts, in a State capital at an institution fer "problem girls", ages fifteen t eighteen; all from the lower classes, mostly black 'n Spanish. Seems his ideas differed some from the methods used by the Ph.D's, from the upper class, who really knew how t treat kids like these. Havin' been there yerself numerous times, draggin' yer o1' guitar along 'n talkin' with the girls, this is how it stacked up. There was a dozen 'r so individual, tiny, six by eight cells, complete with steel doors, a shared livin'/ recreational room, kitchen, 'n an outside, high-fenced walkin' area in his unit. Everybody helped with the chores, cleanin', cookin', etc. So much fer the facilities. There wasn't much need fer him t do much explainin' on how the Ph.D's wanted the place run. He caught on real quick that you understood the sickness that permeated the whole layout. Thinkin' t yerself, "A good flush of Ph.D's, along with their steel doors, woulda cleaned the place up nicely, got rid of the foulness." Pinel knew all about the guy 'n was right in there rootin' fer him, but, he too, sadly t say, knew what he was up against. The counselor had, ever since he'd been there, tried t get the steel doors taken off the tiny cell rooms, but the Ph.D's had bucked him defiantly. The truth of the matter, cuttin' him off before he could even explain why, ya mumbled t yerself, "They
fear 'em. The doors are fer the Ph.D's; not fer the girls." His eyes popped open wide, "I never thought of that." Mumblin' again t yerself, "Get rid of the Ph.D's 'n you'll get rid of the doors 'n the evilness." Undoubtably he couldnt pick up the acrid stench of fear
that emanated from them. On t the girls. It was true the girls did have problems gettin' along in society, on the outs n even though, under the present circumstances, they did explode now 'n again, 'n aside from the glassy stare in some of their eyes (which wasn't due t retardation but jus' t somethin' that'd clicked 'em off), there wasn't any evilness in 'em. If there was any "evilness" about, it was only in the minds of the Ph.D's. When it came t evilness you could sniff it out, right off. Nope. Kids was clean. Minds all shot t hell though. Ya told him what the girls was probably in for. Shocked him all t pieces. "You know more about these kids in two minutes than all of us put together have studied for years to learn. If you only ran this place, it would be empty." Ya felt like shoutin' at the Ph.D director close by, but it only came out a blank stared mumble, "Society has again done it. They've locked the wrong people up. These are the victims you fools. You've locked the victims up 'n set the criminals free." But, yer mumblin's only brought a detached 'n chiseled smile from the rigid disciplinarian head director, who probably hadn't the foggiest idea what 'r who you were talkin' about. A Ph.D does that t ya. Remember the institutional lobotomy? Freaky isn't it? Careful -- what too much canned learnin' can do
t ya. Can't stick people inta cans 'n jus' pluck 'em offa the shelf, specimen like. Ah, yes, the girls. Fer the most part it was an old, old story. Stale from first told. They'd been raped 'n beat 'n raped 'n beat from such an early age they couldn't hardly remember the first time, by fathers, fathers' friends, uncles, neighbors, gang banged 'n thrown away. Nothin' much seemed t be left in 'em, behind those glassy stares, but somebody else's detached cravings, spent lusts, 'n wore out 'n used up fantasies. Someplace along the way, in the pain, shrieking, 'n beatings, something had clicked; 'n the Ph.D's could only coldly think of further punishing fer what they considered "aberrant behavior." Steel doors clanging shut. "Only left with the creatures t gnaw away at their innards." And these kids really had 'em. If those trained t help, if that's what they really have in mind, can only come up with throwin' the victims in tiny concrete cells 'n slamming the steel doors shut, perhaps we are, indeed, in reality, on the other side of the "Looking Glass" at the "Mad Hatter's Tea". Things, societies, can run amuck, ya know. Dear Adolph sure led 'em down a rosy path. Ask anybody eatin' Kosher pickles, they'll tell ya about amuck. Pieces was comin together. It was the girls that suffered more, because they suffered longer, endurin n endurin until they cracked, as in here. It wasnt jus only that they suffered more, but that they was more. Only fear can generate such
repression. Sufferin n endurance equates, t insight, strengthleadership qualities envious attributes t the mean n resentful, becomin toys of those envious, ferever children, males n vindictive weak of society, denyin them their righttheir duty to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their security.1 Such a society is absolved of its sanity and loses its validity. These are the MOTHERS you ASSHOLES! You dont have t be plagued with, Something is terribly, terribly wrong. , t see sick. Them 1776ers interpretation of We the people(Sounds kinda Indian) -- as they picked through, pilfered, left out n changed t suit, preexistin constitutions, codes n treaties already well-documented ages ago in tears, blood n hopes by the real We the people -- left a certain social vagueness of certainty as t who it now really implied. Not these young, victimized, female children fer sure! Philosophies can differ, and, at times, it is important t somebody whose philosophy runs yer life. Before he got there, it was lock up time all night, chunks of time durin' the day, 'n any time durin' outside time, at the whims of whoever. Durin' his duty hours no doors were shut, 'n he kept fightin' t have 'em removed permanently. Girls could decorate their cells homey like 'n "if" -- what an understatement -- they should have a bad dream at night, they could come out 'n talk 'n maybe get a hug, lettin' 'em know somebody cared. The screamin' in the middle of the
night durin' bad dreams scared the pee outta them Ph.D's; so they'd always keep them doors shut when they'uz on night duty. Weekends he'd take one 'r two on picnics, skiing, movies, 'r campin' with his wife 'n two little girls. Probably the first real, real family where nobody feared nobody they'd come across. The wife 'n little girls loved t have 'em along as part of the family. It was a time of peace 'n quiet -- real world, real people doin' what they could t help. These weren't violent kids. Aside from squabbles 'n an occasional fight, these were genuine, hurt victims. One did plaster a Mein Fuhrer, Gestapo, KGB, Stalinist, Auschwitz trained, sicko scumbag, slimeball prison matron who "prided" herself in the ability t break any of these "degenerates" 'n lock 'em up, so she could prove her need of existence. Well, knowin' how much abuse these kids had already silently suffered, 'n how much they were capable of sufferin', the matron hadda really know how t do it. A real perfessional. Considerin' that the free world fought a whole world war t free the world of these sickos, a slap ain't nothin' compared t what the civilized free world did t 'em when they routed 'em outta their holes. A few escaped. At least we know where one of 'em was hidin'. Probably more close by. Pick an institution of yer choice. "Jus' filled in the blanks 'n commenced plunderin'." There was no reason on earth fer the Ph.D's t protest these family get togethers, but they did. One girl ran once, but the counselor knew where she was goin' t visit an
aunt. No need t worry. Sure brought squawks 'n hysterics from the powers on high. Kept takin' 'em inta his home 'n on family outin's though. He even managed t have the steel doors taken off n got rid of durin the interim of one PH.D who left 'n before another arrived. Talk about calm. The new one, another big, fat, rigid disciplinarian, who really knew about these kinda kids, refused t come outta her glass caged office 'n inta the girls' livin' area until the steel doors were put back up. She hadn't even met 'r talked with any of the girls yet, but she knew their kind, "OHHH, yes." This was all right with the girls, "Keep 'em in their rooms." Good strategies get around. By the way, these highly educated, noble creatures, who really knew how t deal with kids like these, were all very strongly religious -- pillars in their church. Lucky the girls were t have such a-helpin' 'em. Another, by the way: The counselor 'n some very sympathetic maintenance men, who had foreseen it all, had not only removed 'n thoroughly got rid of the steel doors where they could no longer be found 'r reappropriated, as they knew the Ph.D's couldn't live without 'em, but had had t "bugger up" the wall hinges real good in order t take the doors down so's no more steel doors could be put up without lots of lengthy paper requisitions -- orders that kept gettin' put in the back files, short of help excuses, 'n disappearin' materials. It was comfortin t know that there was lots of folks that
could tell the difference from the victims 'n the criminals. Unfortunately, they wasn't
the Ph.D's, the remnants, followers of "how things was supposed t be done". Big Guy 'n the club still hangin' around. If they felt they hadda lock someone up, why not try the criminals who're still loose in the population creatin' more victims. The which victims will probably find no rest, but must maintain constant vigilance fer fear of these addle brains, constantly on the prowl, t lock 'em up in tiny concrete cells with big, clangin' steel doors, t keep society safe from victims. A real Vaudevillian slapstick here. T think they spent years in school 'n paid good money jus' t be turned inta turd fishers. Met fellow guitarists from tiny Po' Folk, no name places t big time cities, all bangin' away furiously with their own special fire, hot licks 'n blue notes at a dream. Playin' anywhere, way inta the night: barns, corners, shacks, churches, 'r fairs where they could get an audience. All playin' with a fever, a-burnin' up. Hour after hour they'd wail 'n then go t work, ten t twelve hours in the fields, cotton, fruit, sawmills, 'r coal 'n be back sizzlin' with unlimited energy. Harness that desire t learn, create, 'n you could rule the world with a handful of these critters 'n a dollar's worth of guitar strings. As the states 'n jobs whizzed by, there'd been other folks of note, though not near as many as the "Two-chickens-in every-potters". The visionaries 'n pioneers seem tget stuck on back shelves 'r gagged 'n stuffed someplace in hopes they won't bring t our attention the changes that anybody with a lick of sense knows are jus' around the
corner anyway 'n need t be addressed. America was indeed the land of opportunity. Sweat t be had. Ripe fer the pickin's. So the years passed since leavin' Ron 'n Carlos in the midst of all them churches down South. Why, they'uz in pig heaven. But t yer way of thinkin', you was glad t get shook of the whole lot of 'em with all their cursin', squabblin', mark of the beastin', 'n of the devilin' each other 'n everybody else, 'r lookin' fer the evil in everything n the world t come t a violent end with somehow only their tiny, smug little fecal pile sect, handful of "onlies" left around in the charred remains. Gag! Looked forward t it, they did. Let 'em have their bitterness 'n hostilities. It was like a cancerous sickness eatin' away at 'em. No good'll come of it. The world was a good place. Course, it had its problems. Not unsolvable though. You'd met too many good folks a-tryin' hard, extendin' hands, helpin'. There was a carin' that came naturally from 'em, 'n left t itself it'd win out in the end. Oh sure, there'd be more wars 'n ideological conflicts, but by 'n by folks'd jus' get tired of it all 'n sicko influences what kept stokin' the flames. Folks, as folks usually do, would see the good through the different colors of the skin, languages, 'n customs, despite all the rantin's 'n ravin's of the stokers of the flames. Democracy would slowly evolve naturally. Folks like the idea of peace, speakin' their mind, contributin' their part t a better world, free of fear of retribution from any quarter -- government 'r religion. With
this freedom, man's potential will take him far beyond any mere ideologies of who we are, what we're supposed t be, think, 'r who he's supposed t follow. Man will evolve, given this freedom, t be the ruler of his own destiny, 'n it will be good. There's peace up the road fer sure. Look fer it. Throw out yer tea leaves 'n horoscopes 'n read it in the gene pool. There's a greatness there. Beyond n' beyond beyond. Then one day came an announcement over the radio, as ya was busy in yer barber shop -- figurin' out permissible population densities of different fish species in relation t the relative bio-mass available in any given pond (species specific of course) t attain maximum growth on all levels of competition. Ah, yes, the announcement. Jake, an o1' logger, fishin' buddy, had dropped in -- still recuperatin' from his last haircut -- 'n looked up as the announcement rambled on. Somethin' about a new Community College openin' up 'n lookin' fer folks of all ages that wanted t become educated 'r learn a new occupation. What with plywood 'n sawmills closin' 'n unrestrained loggin' leavin' the land scarred 'n stripped from over-cuttin' 'n with loggers demandin' the last little bit of public national parks t whack down, the state was inta retrainin' folks inta other things than everybody all goin' fer that last stick that was somehow theirs. Well, Jake figured he was long past any hope of realizin' any of his dreams of grandeur; but, as we got t talkin', he come up with a bit of o1' homespun. Lookin' ya square in the eye, "You know, you've got to be doing something the next
four years," 'n left it at that as he grinned 'n meandered off towards home, still limpin' a bit from that last stump, with all its roots, that'd cut loose 'n chased him down the hill, runnin' like hell, givin' him a good clip that sent him, again, inta the hospital. Well, whenever Jake was all banged up from loggin' accidents 'n pinin' away in the hospital, you'd go out 'n catch a nice five t eight pound Largemouth Bass 'n cart it up t him, still thrashin' about, in yer barber bag, past all them prim 'n unsuspectin' nurses, who figured you was there again t give another haircut 'r shave. Man! Pumped life inta that o1' boy t see such a beautiful creature. Cut his recuperation time down by half. It was best jus' t accept o1' Jake exactly as he was. Even after you'd put two 'n two together 'n come up with him a-havin' a passel of smarts, university 'n all. Somethin' had happened long ago. Somethin' terrible. But Jake had managed t make peace with it all 'n himself 'n was content t be a logger. Yep! Best t let it rest. He liked it that way. But, he knew you knew. Like everybody else who came inta the shop, doctors, lawyers, engineers, 'n inventors, even way out here in the country where yer shop was, t discuss physics, philosophies, moot points of the law, he more'n held his own; with few bein' able t hold a candle t o1' Jake when it came t ponderin'. Yep! He knew damn well what he was a-doin', meanderin' outta yer shop, grinnin'. The smug bastard! The Son-of-a-bitch
had done it t ya again'; 'n he knew thatcha knew he was right. This wasn't our usual banter of jarrin' points t ponder on. He'd sunk this one in deep, t the hilt, 'n broke it off. Well, maybe the time was ripe. Who knows? Anyway, the barberin' business was all shot t hell. There was jus' too many customers 'n not enough time t devote t the important things -- yer studies, as had been yer reason fer gettin' inta it in the first place. We all agreed, as ya layed it on yer customers, that no harm'd probably come of it if ya didn't take it seriously 'r let it interfere with important things. None of 'em minded droppin' by when ya happened t be in between classes.
CHAPTER 29
Spread out before ya, as ya entered the expansive admissions office, were desks near as far as the eye could see, fully equipped with clatterin' typewriters, propelled by young, energetic secretaries, bangin' on forms of all sorts. Then an ominous pall came over ya as one of 'em handed ya a stack of these noxious, blank documents with a, "Please fill out these forms." Forms! Records! Mind went blank. They wanted t know who you were; where you came from; what folks thought of you; references 'n all. But before the horror had hardly a chance t work its misery, someone stepped up from the Council, "Dear lady! Standing before you is the chance of your life to do good. Perhaps the one great chance. This, fair maid, could be your rendezvous with destiny. Think of it; to help a poor illiterate, lacking even a wit of communicative skills, make meaningful contributions to society. Merely sign this poor wretch up and stand aside and watch the wonders of your esteemed institution perform the miracles that it so
desires to stay afloat in this next fiscal tax year. Did Alexander come to fill out forms? Nay, wench! Are we not here, lass, to blot out the last vestiges and conquer illiteracy on all fronts? Is it excellence for which we strive, or merely to propagate, unto the heavens, parking meter maids and insurance claims adjustors? Does the visionary succumb to mindless, bureaucratic drivel? Your advertisement stated, Come and be educated.' Nothing was said of forms. Here is a High School diploma, as meaningless as it may be, but, lest memory fails, is all that is really necessary. Let us not dally or dabble in needless expletives. Haste, maid! Haste! Destiny awaits! To be a part! To serve! Onward to excellence! The rendezvous, woman! Your hour has arrived!" Eyes bulgin' 'n mouth gapin', she was hurriedly stuffin' 'n crammin' forms into a typewriter, as she timidly stammered out, "Is a name and address too much?" Relinquishin' these two bits of information, ya quickly glanced around 'n searched about ya with a look of confused, perplexed consternation, "Who was that masked man?" Spellbound in her own personal stupor, she slowly shook her head 'n pointed absently 'n dumfoundedly to a sign over a door -- COUNSELOR. "Gimme the works ma'am. Whatever it takes t become an educated critter. College transfer classes, ya say? Why sure, ma'am, gimme them too. A major? Well, a fella should jus' work on gettin' educated afore he gets inta any decision makin', don'tcha think? A fella don't wanna make no dumb decisions, now, does he? You can
understand that, now can't ya? That's why we're here. No more dumb decisions. Right? We'll take a bunch of them classes, 'n when we accumulate somethin', upstairs, we'll give a shot at this decision makin' stuff; you know, them majors 'n minors, OK?" She mumbled somethin' 'n you replied, "Yes, ma'am. Goin' right through. All the way! No sense in shootin' off half yer load. Bein' jus' half smart is like bein' jus' half dumb. Ya know what they say about a little education." Again, eyes bulgin' 'n mouth agape, she sat there noddin' her head. And that's how ya left 'em, in a dazed state of disbelief, shakin' 'n noddin' their heads, as ya wandered out, lookin' around yerself fer somebody who didn't appear t be there, mumblin', "See! There are some things a fella can do hisself. Hey! What was that 'poor illiterate' 'n 'lacking a whit' of somethin' stuff? Jeeeze! Does it really show? Is it that bad?" By now you'd realized it was an absolute waste of breath 'n time tryin' t convince the city fathers 'n councilmen not t use any of the ponds about (there was around 600 of 'em in yer study) fer garbage dumps. "Timell come when they'll serve better as recreational sites. Besides, when all that gas you've created starts escapin', you won't be able t build any of those housin' projects on what you call 'Reclaimed land'. A dry, gas belchin', disease, 'n sewer leachin' swamp is what you'll have." Here in the sixties there was big bucks t be had in kickbacks from developers fer cheap public land. Continuin' right along. "'Sides, ya oughta look inta tryin' t reuse some of that
stuff yer jus' chuckin' Oh, another thing. Don't think it'll look too good 'r set too well with voters, come election time, this condemnin' widows farms 'n fruit orchards fer garbage dumps. You can understand votes, now, can'tcha? 'Sides, ya could condemn the whole damn county, 'r the ocean fer that matter, 'n it wouldn't solve much of anything, as our throw away mass is greater than the contamination storage capacity of the afore mentioned potholes." You folks up in the future, be aware that if we can't somehow replace these potbellied, cigar smokin', backslappin', influence -peddlin', carpet-baggin' operators behind closed doors with up-front, straight shootin', professionally trained watchdogs in things t preserve life on this planet, trees will be a thing of the past, 'n there'll be more sea critters in text books than in the oceans. Air? Ferget it. With few trees 'n the oceans dyin' out, folks'll be wheezin' 'n tryin t survive on industrial fumes. And, if it's any harbinger of things t come, the rampant spread of tumors in fish (in the fish you'd been studyin' in local rivers, ponds, 'n even in the ocean), yer kids'll be lucky t reach puberty without comin' down with somethin' that stymies medical science. Probably be plagues of biblical proportions of scungies attackin' our bodies (maybe they didn't have any qualified watchdogs way back then either); but, if fer some reason we fail, don't let any of these mealy-mouths get hold of the reins, fer whatever spiel, weasely hoodwinkery they're promotin'. Shut the door on 'em. Don't even let 'em get inta the future. If they
do, you ain't got one. Not even a bleak one. Some of us folks back here in the sixties may not know much, but this we do know! Oh, 'n no more closed-door sessions under any circumstances. "Thugs in the alley". Forewarned. There were other interests. Paleontology fer one 'r Paleozoology t be more correct, in this case. Even before that beak-nosed, biddy teacher, at the public school that the Home kids got sent t, had called yer fossils you'd dug up in the hills, "The Devil's imitations made to lead astray the innocents," you knew that this was something ya hadda look inta. It was cute then, as now. Still chuckle a bit. But now there were serious comparisons t be made, fer example, between present bivalve 'n univalve construction 'n their myriad past counterparts 'n relatives. Changes till ya went blearyeyed searchin' 'em out. There were substantially less variations today, 'n the survivors possessed common traits. Round was in. Those that crapped in their own bed weren't around anymore. Hittin' close t Homo sapiens, huh? These comparisons were also made with macro and microscopic specimens -- Micropaleozoology. Likewise, Botany could hardly escape the evolutionary ax, nor yer scrutiny. Anthropology was startin' t get a hold on ya, but not so much as archeology. There were similar customs, rites, art forms, 'n legends from all over the world. Then there was still the ocean, a-pluggin' fer ya, with all its thousands of apprentice programs. By now, though, it'd tore ya up some, what with all its rocks,
cliffs, rough poundin' surf, 'n sinkin' boats, shiiiit! That water's cold up North. But, all in all, we still maintained a good friendship; gettin' t know each other better each time yer drawers got filled with a thousand gallons of icy salt water 'n sand, 'r losin' a stretch of hide on its rocks. Yer takin' apart, studyin', 'n rebuildin' a half dozen cars brought ya t the conclusion that the internal combustion engine could best be improved by chuckin' it. Natural gas 'n alcohol would prolong, but, ultimately, only terminate in its demise. Been lookin' inta solar electric, with possibly incorporatin' hydraulics, manual pedal power, 'n flywheels, maybe. Still visited some old bedfasts, now 'n again, playin' a tune 'r two that took 'em back. Tried t go fishin' daily, invent somethin', read a book, check out yer different models of edible, non-combustible lawn mowers -- a goat, ewe, 'n a rabbit -- 'n peruse a few moments through yer pesticide-free wildflower garden, checkin' t see that the valuable little grass snakes were comfy under their respected rocks 'n boards, 'n now incorporate a few classes. Classes were small, 'n some soon t be smaller, real fast. That young English Comp. gal was tougher'n a nail, but straight shootin'. Stopped by the library 'n brushed up on grammar. Class went from thirty-two t six in a few weeks. The gal was worth
her salt. After a few terms she hadda go on maternity leave. She had twins. Wrote her a poem 'n put it in her box -- anonymous. Lotta good that did. One's enough but two's too few; You've started now kid, you're not through. Be pleased to meet your image true, The light shines back "O propagator you".
My Granny was a relic of lore, With four and a score, and she'd a had more, But Granny wore out -- three husbands too, And now she's handed the torch to you.
Freckles and warts, frogs and glue, Tis Heaven on Earth till washin's due. Though Iam's be splendid and verse be blank Chaucer's a wretch at the dishwater tank.
Milton is pure, of that we're sure, But diapers now lead by their fragrant lure. Coleridge indeed built quite a ship But with nary a plank where tots could fit.
My verse may smell, to the pits of ...well! But after their burps, you'll admire its smell For nothin's quite like a good stiff reek To lighten the shade of a rosy cheek.
And now I'll ride off, on my milk white steed, Leaving you poetry, potty, and diapers to seed.
Affectionately yours: Milt, Gwain, Grendel, and the Jolly Green Giant
History of Western civilization was also along these lines. Fer most it was absolutely impossible, not only t get through the amount of material t be read, but t even think about accomplishin' such a feat. But, t yer way of thinkin', it was a meetin' of old friends. Council members was there, pleased as punch, 'n ya know how folks gets real curious about friends 'n neighbors, wantin' t know all. Well, this could only lead t personal requests fer more material on these friends 'n neighbors. More of a personal interest nature it was. The instructor was sharp. A chance t fill in some of the blanks. Fer you it was a great opportunity, but fer others who didn't make it past the first exam, it brought, "Are you crazy, man? Who wants to read more of that boring crap." Attila, Genghis, Napoleon 'n Alexander were quick t sputter 'n fume indignantly. In all things they would accept responsibility -- Lunatics, despots, raving madmen -- but boring? Taa, Taa, Taa! A new one there, boys. Laughter 'n guffaws all round the council. The Biology instructor turned out t be, n still is, a good friend. No more need be said. Well, perhaps an incident 'r two in passin'.
His labs were really packed full, 'n t get through 'em took some doin'. So, he assigned lab partners. Ya wound up with a young housewife. Nice gal, but squeamish 'n repulsed at everything that couldn't be accomplished with a pencil 'n note pad.. Well, you could polish off most of the lab work alone, but, as time went by, it came t yer attention that the gal wasn't learnin' much. A waste of good money 'n time. Next lab up was the o1' pithed frog 'n nerve response. So, after peelin' all the skin offa a very large Rana catasbiana, which almost made her shiver t pieces 'n upchuck, ya set it down on the table, aimed it at her prim, pearly white, low cut, halter top, 'n the next time she bent forward a bit t scribble in her notebook, ya gave a quick swab on the ass of that critter with some acetylcholine. Every muscle in that skinned critter sprang inta action, even croakin' loudly, as it sailed through the air, 'n you guessed it. Direct hit. Right down that halter top 'n stuck in nicely between them two little boobies. Between hysterical gasps of horror 'n frantically tryin' t remove the large veiny, wet, cold, 'n slimy monster, wedged firmly, a unique transformation took place as she, between gasps, looked down at yer upward smilin', indifferent grin. She calmed down, "All right, you win, just help me get this thing out, and we'll give these labs a try, even if they give me nightmares the rest of my life." Turned out all right, she did. Paid real good attention t everything. At times though, you'd almost detect a note of suspicion. Gettin' her money's worth. Not missin' anything.
The next incident was the instructor's unique system t be ultimately fair. A points system fer exams. He'd take it inta consideration that maybe he hadnt explained r covered materials adequately 'r asked the questions clearly 'r some hadnt have time t finish all the labs 'n a few other things t boot. He was sure complete on his tests. No bluffin' 'r workin' around the answers. Ya either knew it exactly 'r didn't. They was good tests. First you'd answer his questions the way ya figured he wanted 'em answered 'n then, as was yer wont, you'd answer 'em yer way. No extra credit involved. You could hear the groans 'n moans, sprinkled with four-letter goodies, durin' his exams. A bunch of dyin' cows. Postin' the scores, he hadda make a whole new chart system. He mumbled a curse, "Nobody ever got those kinds of scores before. It's not possible to answer everything correctly." Well, he was pretty close t right there 'cause there was sure some dandies. As tradition would put it, after nearly thirty years of teachin', the top scores would generally be stretchin' t get from 80% to 90%. "But 117%? Not possible!" Every test it rose: 128%; 136%; 147%; 'n he'd hafta make new charts. Seems it hung around 128% t 147% mostly. Got t where he'd make these tests real interestin, though all it did was seem t make the gap greater. Near failed the whole class on that 147%. Hardly any over 50%. Some sharp kids in there, too. There'd be thirty-five names all scrunched on the bottom, 'n a foot 'r two of blank, 'n then there'd be that one score.
We'd go on bird counts 'n field trips together. Things of personal interest. As the years passed, we'd share findin's, information, 'n opinions. A great Biologist, Geologist, 'n Archaeologist. The rest of the classes were jus' classes. A few terms 'n you'd developed a strategy contingent with yer own personal insatiable desire t learn, givin ya room t play with. Fer what it's worth, before the term started, you'd have read all the texts t all the classes 'n as much required readin' material as possible, durin' the couple weeks vacation time, gettin' this information as best ya could from askin' instructors 'n from handouts, so when class started you could see if the instructor said anything new 'r was jus' slingin' old hash. This also came in handy if ya found yerself in need of a rest, especially around exam week. You could relax, go fishin', 'n come t exams A.T.P.'s at the ready (adenosine triphosphates). The new strategy also relied upon yer only needin' a couple hours sleep a night, which meant that opened ya up t takin' real early (5:00 A.M.) 'n real late classes that got out near midnight. Then, if ya could get a few extra bucks, ya could junk the barberin' altogether 'n finish everything in a couple years with goin' t summer school. Got t know the finance gal pretty good. No, that's not quite right. We got t know each other very well. Words weren't really necessary. She did everything in her power, no questions asked, t speed ya along, even when she figured out whatcha was
up to. Not exactly goin' by the rule book. She'd grin, 'n ya knew she had her dollar bet on ya, thatcha could pull it off. She'd figured it out thatcha were attendin' three different campuses at the same time, not t mention her suspicions about the big university also. She never said anything, but ya could see it in her twinklin' eyes 'n grin'. She'd keep contactin' ya t see if ya needed any more funds. "Nope, that little help was sufficient. Get hungry, there's fish, mushrooms, Nutria, clams, mussels, 'n algae. Then there's always the lawnmower." She was also in charge of another department thatcha got t know in a round about way. Understatement! Understatement! Please note that this is one big understatement, 'n that there is one big understatement comin' up. The last couple months you'd been gettin' this junk mail, all highly embossed, very expensive document like paper. Musta set somebody back a pretty penny; probably an encyclopedia sellin' outfit. (Since, in the past, the institutional authorities always opened, read, 'n rifled through any mail ya got, ya soon figured out that anything important 'r worth readin' wouldn't get t ya , so ya didn't bother readin' any of it. Paid the bills 'n junked the rest. Mailman'd get on ya if ya let it sit 'n fill up the box.) You'd chuck 'em, but they kept on comin', with "PLEASE READ! IMPORTANT INFORMATION INSIDE!" The place was gettin' cluttered up with this garbage. Finally, out of desperation, ya jotted a quick note off t 'em. "Sorta pressed , fer time right now 'n definitely not interested in a set of encyclopedias." They kept
right on comin'. More chuckin'. Then the finance gal showed up. She said she'd been appointed by a board 'r panel, on behalf of some very desperate and frustrated people from a large National institute, that kept callin', t see if she couldn't personally get ya t fill out one of their forms. Then she timidly, from behind her back with an almost guilty "please, pretty please" smile all over her face, handed ya the encyclopedia company's envelope. She said she'd filled it all out but there was one small section, "only a few lines" thatcha hadda fill out. Instantly in yer mind, Ahhhh hah! So that's their scam. Ya go t their school 'n then ya hafta buy a set of their encyclopedias, 'r ya don't get credits 'r graduate 'r somethin'. Probably t keep the place afloat." So ya explained t her thatcha couldn't see yer way financially right yet t buy one of their sets of encyclopedias. Her face got real perplexed; 'n then her eyes got big, 'n she rolled 'em around, looked up in the sky, 'n mumbled somethin' before she got back down t dealin' with somethin' entirely new t her. Then she started from square one. "You don't really know what this is, do you?" You could tell she now hadda handle on somethin' that musta really been drivin' her up a wall. She let out a big breath, a sigh, "I should have known. You really don't know what this is!" She smiled 'n smiled 'n almost cried standin' there lookin' atcha. Then ya looked at her, halfheartedly resigned, "OK, OK! Send the encyclopedias down; but they'll have t be paid for after this stab at gettin' educated is over." Then she started laughin' 'n laughin'. Well, that's all right. Ya probably deserved it, not bein' educated enough t know that was part of the educational program -- buyin' the damn
set of encyclopedias. Nothin' ya could do about it now. Yer strategy was all set 'n ready t go. Probably have t buy another set at the University, too. Shit! What's a fella gonna do with all them sets of encyclopedias. Every time ya wanna get a little more educated - more sets of encyclopedias. A guy ever gets t be a doctor 'r somethin', he won't be able t even get inta his house, what with all them sets of encyclopedias stacked up in crates. No wonder they's so poor 'n in debt when they start out. They owe their soul t the encyclopedia company. There ya are again "peein' in the washin' sink". Well, woulda saved a lotta trouble if you'da only knowed. Coulda budgeted fer it. She continued right along, "Every student in every college covets what this represents." Ya mumbled t yerself, "So they're hot about encyclopedias. Whoopee do!" Mumblin' right along, "They probably all want a picture of Lenin, too." She continued, "You have been unanimously elected by every department here at this institution." Right then 'n there ya jus' about couldn't take it no more, what they'd go through t make a sale, 'n felt like fallin' prostrate on the ground, grovelin' at her feet, "No, Massa! Oh no, Massa! Dis po' boy don't really deserve another set of encyclopedias. No, Massa. Fo' sho', no!" She continued right along in a long spiel. Somethin' about bein' nominated fer a Who's Who. With you lettin' her know that it wasn't thatcha really didn't appreciate the honor, but couldn't ya find another well-deservin' student, one of them covetin' kind, 'n let them buy the damn set of encyclopedias. It took some doin' on her part t convince ya you didn't hafta buy nothin', 'n while still bein' perplexed, "And what was all that about
encyclopedias?" There was only a form t fill out. HAH! A form! Tried desperately t convince her that, "How could anybody receive an honor when he wasn't even educated yet." There was no other students that they could come up with. Well, maybe they hadn't looked hard enough? Maybe if they looked real hard they could come up with one deservin' of somethin'? Ya mentioned a few thatcha felt was tryin' pretty hard, but in the end there went yer anonymity. You was in some book. Gag! A real understatement, huh? By the end of a year 'r so, you'd pretty well tidied up whatcha could get outta this place, plus a summer at the University, 'n a whole new way a-lookin' at things. Ya wanted meat, but there wasn't much of it hangin' on the bones of most of what was offered. Slim pickin's. T make matters worse, if ya continued yer present program, ya still, after all these years, wouldn't be permitted t take Zoology. That did it! The time had come fer somebody t act. These noble aloofs-from-it-all had lived in their ivy towers so long, they had forgotten, if they really had ever known, that if a fella's got an interest, use it t educate him. Feed it. Havin' decided firmly in yer mind that the whole system was near riddled with inepts, the only approach, if ya was gonna get anything outta this education whee, was t have 'em all declared mind dead 'n incompetent 'n take the reins outta their hands 'r try t change the "Whole System". Well, those sufferin' from "mind dead" don't really realize their brain's no longer functional 'n among the livin'. Be difficult. They had been
trained t function illogically. Been doin' it too well. No hope from that quarter. T change the "Whole System" seemed pretty far fetched 'n time consumin', at least t get it done in the next few days before class sign-up, but, on the back burner, "far fetched" still wasn't "impossible". The only practical thing t do, it was decided, was t keep 'em smilin', humor 'em along, but quietly, unawares t themselves, relieve 'em of all decision makin' powers 'n influence, at least over yer life, much as one would do t an agin' o1' senile who'd lost his marbles. Keep 'em smilin' 'n happy durin' their last days. Put the old relics t rest, quietly, unsuspectin'! Have the whole lot of 'em committed! Crash course in legality comin' up. Havin' worked fer a few lawyers 'n put up with their snotty-nosed kids, it had been brought t yer attention that murder could be committed legally! Well, that was sorta whatcha had in mind here. What with precedents, fine points, legalese, 'n balls you could get away with anything, right, William? The more educated they was, the more gullible they was, havin' lost touch with reality long ago. The last vestiges of common sense were erased when they got their Ph.D. lobotomy. Every law book you could get yer hands on dealin' with any university 'n state requirements was poured over, compared, classified, 'n coded with yer memory system. It felt good 'n necessary gettin' a handle on all this legal mumbo-jumbo, but whatcha
really needed most now was "sand". "Leave 'em feelin' it was good doin' business with ya." Hey! No problem, baby! One set of "balls" comin' up. About t try t get somethin' outta a totally defunct system. By substitutin lower level driveldy de pot classes fer graduate n advanced level classes n create yer own department. Kinda like bestowin Knighthood upon yerself. By the time the next year 'r so had passed, you'd become so familiar in graduate 'n doctoral level classes, labs, field trips, 'n gone round 'n round with 'em all, they all assumed that's where ya belonged. Absolutely no doubt at all. Heh, heh, heh, heh. While still technically a lowly undergrad n never havin' entered Grad school, taken any admissions tests, filled out any forms, ya was near half finished with it. Hey! Way t go. Even got invited t sit on a unique, first-of-its-kind panel t represent the University. This panel was composed of graduate level students, each representin' relevant areas of national concerns: pollution, birth control, venereal diseases, loggin', radioactive wastes, sewer facilities, conservation, etc. There was a half dozen 'r so of us, 'n government 'n elected officials from all offices 'n fields from all over the U.S. came t present their problems 'n concerns. We, the panel, would propose solutions, usin' upfront, avant-garde, not even hot-off-the-press yet technologies 'n innovative ideas. There was sure some wildies on that panel. Worth listenin' t, they was. One class, taught by a young genius professor in Math/Science -- doctorate at sixteen, 'n had been teachin' here fer four years -- permitted only doctoral candidates t
enroll. Class entirely filled. No more permitted! Five minutes talkin' t the youth came the realization we had much in common. Space was made, on the spot, 'n that was that. The prerequisite readin' material that you would have had t have read in the years it took ya t even "function" in this class eliminated most. Sorta hadda know everything there ever was t know about science since time began 'n had now reached the ability t play with 'n incorporate all philosophies at beck. Instant recall of everything. Some heavies in yer midst, fer sure! Class involved solvin' all the science problems that existed durin' any specific age, but restricted t their level of technology; 'n also the evolution of paradigms. Great minds of each era were used as pivots: Galileo, da Vinci, Lavoisier, Dalton, etc. A book a night, more 'r less, not includin' reference works. All heavy math, physics, and chemistry theory, ancient t modern, Alchemists through Particle Physics 'n Quantum Mechanics. The class was full 'n it stayed full. Carnivores all. In hot pursuit of flesh -Meat! Open discussion all the way. No Hee Hawin' here. When ya opened yer mouth yer words were few, weighed, evaluated, 'n expounded upon by all. These guys knew their stuff 'cause you'd bandied with 'em all one time 'r other. Kept ya on yer toes, they did, defendin' 'n supportin' yer concepts that, at times, set 'em back, ponderin'. The young professor, probably the sharpest, coolest, 'n most expansive mind you'd ever come across, was of very few words, as he let the class pass the torch around.
Reminiscent of Galileo's Master in his treatise. He'd figured it out, right off; there were definitely two schools of thought permeatin' the class: Traditional 'n predictable conceptualization, which accounted fer near 100% of the class; 'n that of the one quiet student whose reasonin' was definitely not traditional 'r predictable. The class was well-versed on the definition of exact principles, most stickin' pretty close t the security of exactness. But t yer way of thinkin: "The way ya see it, may well depend on how ya look at it. A fella starts definin' a principle, may find hisself trapped if he don't consider it in a relative way. Made some great, t see things comin' 'n goin', flowin'. Sure smarts some t get caught in a nuclear meltdown 'n look around ya t see a whole room fulla sixth century Alchemists -- a-smilin'; all MIT graduates; all quotin' meltdown procedure! Lavosier 'r Priestly may quite easily have been functionin' on the level of a Faraday 'r a Dalton, a half century later, 'r vice versa. Give 'em at least credit fer leavin' a few windows 'n doors open t see what's comin' 'n goin' 'n enough sense not gettin' themselves trapped if the outdated house starts collapsin'. Perhaps you'd like a sketch of a power plant of the future that won't be around fer another century 'r so. We'd be usin' it now 'r comin' close t it if Edison'd had his way, though he may not have realized it totally at the time -- if he'da stuck t his guns 'n perfected D.C. current transmission 'n not succumbed t his get rich quick, greedy backers wantin' bucks in the pocket now 'n paradigms later. The conduction really had nothin' t do with it. It woulda been the easy access t conversion as solar came inta bein', coupled with
our pioneer spirit of self-sufficiency. The minds 'n appliances would have already been wired fer it. Solar, by necessity, 'n the creative spirit of the little guy not wantin' t get screwed by the big guy, woulda been 30% t 50% energy conversion effective. Unpluggin' from the grid 'n puttin' panels on yer own roof woulda probably reached heated, legislative proportions, with big bucks legislatin' laws; but 'Dont Tread On Me woulda now included My roof either. Bottom Line? Enforcement agencies woulda been hard pressed t enforce 'em. Granny's pioneer spirit, wavin' her Up yers sucker!' woulda rallied folks 'n stopped Big Bucks in his tracks. Granny can do that." Pausin' a second, then continuin' right along, "That's a paradigm, boys!" Holdin' up a blank paper. "'Nother one on the other side, but that's got t do with our greed -- the little guys. Social awareness things all tangled up in math 'n science. Take a while fer us t unravel that one, hundred years, more 'r less." A decision had been reached awhile back as t what'd be a purposeful major. That is, one that served yer purposes. Pay wasn't much but ya had lots of vacations fer yer personal research n studies. In between the vacations all ya hadda do was keep the little beggars occupied 'n quell any uprisin's -- a few crusts, some scraps, rattle their cages -- couldn't be much. No serious thought was ever given t give serious thought t teachin'. After bein' subjected t a few Education classes, all thought of havin' any thought at all seemed entirely out of place. Black holes were in vogue in the sciences, gobblin' up anything that wandered by, never t be seen again, disappearin' ferever in
that great vacuum. So it was with any "thought" 'r "thinkin'" that wandered too close t Education classes, "Poof" never heard of again. Scary! The professors'd harangue 'n harangue 'n spew out voluminous drivel on statistics, graphs, 'n charts; 'n those about ya preparin' t enter this field would set there furiously recordin' every word, like, (gag, forbid), it actually had meanin'. What was somewhat scary was that few contested anything that was put forth. Maybe there was nothin' t contest? Challengin' 'n questionin' were not an integral component in this most nebulous of fields. If one could haggle over much proven mathematics 'n science concepts, why was it not evident here with this vague mumbo-jumbo? Most of those about ya appeared t be young, prim females, straight outta high school. Maybe it wasn't the subject matter that lacked thought but the people enterin' the profession. Except fer a few, they literally had nothin' t say about anything. Then again, maybe nobody'd come up with anything worth thinkin' about. Naw! Everybody's got somethin' t say about somethin', an opinion. Where minds was concerned, you'd sorta expected some thinkin' t be hangin' around someplace, loiterin' around in the background. This didn't look good at all, 'n you, fer one, was startin' t get a little uneasy about those around ya. Would poke one every now 'n again t see if they'uz alive, "Jus' testin'." Coulda plugged near any of them classes inta an electroencephalograph 'n pronounced it legally dead, 'n that was a stiff, rigored dead. Methinks they protest not enough. Marx fodder comin' up! Not real healthy, society-wise, havin' an opinionless class.
Got 'em started in the right direction though when ya went t the Dean of Education 'n wanted yer money back on all their classes ya hadda take. "Sir! You look like a sensible sort. A modicum of intelligence. Let us propose a theory. Mind ya, nothin' more'n somethin' t think about. If by some reason a scoundrel is caught, apprehended, sellin' a pig-in-a-poke, don'tcha think -- there's that word again -- that he, the scoundrel, should legally be held responsible, in the light of the law, t refund t the injured parties that which he, under false pretenses, obtained?" Gaggin', chokin', sputterin', 'n stammerin', he pretty well got the general drift. He wasn't that dumb, as you'd be prone t suspect, havin' spent such a large part of his existence livin' in this opinionless, mindless, thoughtless vacuum. We was actually very good friends. Can't hold it entirely against a fella the company he keeps, what with all them Ph.D.'s bouncin' offa walls hereabouts. His secretary did mention, only in passin' though, that he'd "hide under his desk" when you happened t be wanderin' about the place. He wasn't entirely above takin' suggestions though, "Best thing t do -- 'n you probably realize it, too -- is jus' t lay this ailin' relic t rest. Shut up the doors. Turn off the lights. Go home 'n have a beer 'n jus' write this whole Education Department off as an experiment that never really panned out." Took yer advice, too, he did. Though it took twenty years fer 'em t put the old sick cow outta its misery. Bit slow there! A cute incident in passin' before we try t "legalize" what you'd been a-doin' here 'n get a degree 'r two outta it. Never put much store in anything that ya couldn't use
'r apply, even so in Biology, 'r in genetics, t be more specific, as the case applies here in this incident. Had some friends that was content t clock their time in, eight t five, in the mills 'n go fishin' on the weekends. One family in particular, Johnny, Pam 'n their kids, Janice, Brenda, 'n Jack. Well, t make a short story longer'n it really oughta be, you'd drop by time 'n again t compare notes on fishin'. As was yer custom, you was ferever sizin' things up -- lay of the land, seein' what made folks folks --unconsciously, form of habit. Johnny wasn't what you'd call one of the great thinkers of our time, more 'r less content t let the world slide by; 'n Pam was probably more liberated than the neighbors; 'n the kids wasn't anything special t write home about. The kids resembled either Johnny 'r Pam fer the most part, but there was somethin' about Janice, not really evident, lest ya was lookin' fer inside things. Phenotype-wise you'd added points up, 'n they'd come out acceptable; but genotypewise, a slight characteristic existed, not found in mom 'r pop. But, as things happen that way, both Johnny 'n Pam's parents lived in town. Traits skippin' a generation were common; grandparents 'n grandkids comin' up with similar characteristics, phenotypewise, maybe genotype too, if ya was lookin' fer 'em. A slight nuance of Janice's was not t be found on either side of the family tree. A few casual questions t grandparents, about what they remembered of their parents 'n grandparents, confirmed some suspicions.
Some time later, you'd dropped by 'n Johnny happened not t be around, 'n so ya casually mentioned, fer want of anything else t chat about, t Pam, who was busy in the kitchen doin' something, "Janice isn't Johnny's, is she, Pam?" If a bomb hadda dropped outta the blue, it wouldn't have had near the effect. Pots went crashin' t the floor. Wanderin' in, she stood in shock, white as a sheet, gulpin' 'n chokin', 'n holdin' that one last gasp like it was her last. "Relax, Pam, you'll hyperventilate 'r swaller some flies." She stood there dazed, tryin' t reglue herself together, gather a few thoughts that had any meanin' 'r made sense. Only thing she could finally muster up was a dumfounded, "How? How did you find out?" As it turned out, she let ya know, though ya didn't ask, that Janice belonged t one of Johnny's friends who she'd got together with some years ago. Nobody had ever suspected. Best t leave it at that. She knew it'd remain that way, though it did take her a few days before she got around t openin' doors before tryin' t go through 'em 'n puttin' pots on shelves that were really there. Cute! Nothin' more. At yer Bachelor's of Science graduation, ya coulda gone with three degrees of yer choice, legally; two of which weren't offered at that University moot point. Shortly after you'd legally fulfilled State requirements fer a Master's degree not offered at that University, but "could be". "Could be" was so much more encouragin' 'n positive than "not", so that had been the tack you'd taken. Long range 'n positive. Gets 'em every time. In reality though, no department could legally claim ya, prerequisite-wise, except yer own of course. In a nutshell, ya hadn't satisfied anybody here at the University but
yerself. Not quite as bleak as A Man Without A Country. Legally -- 'n the courts'd uphold ya on that count -- ya had the degree; jus' that it didn't exist -- not quite yet anyway. In reality, it was nothin' more'n a slight error in semantics, a typo; merely a misuse of possessive adjectives 'n verbs: theirs didn't; yours did! One could be generous 'n forgive such a barbaric, idiomatic misrepresentation of the English language, considerin' they were all probably part of a flood of wretched immigrants, arrivin' stuffed in the holds of leaky oil barges, disease ridden banana boats, flimsy makeshift rafts, 'r clingin' t bits of flotsam, starved, desperate, 'n illiterate refugees of of some repression, peasants most likely. One could overlook this trivial bit of
insignificant nomenclature inta their professional n academic qualifications, knowin the true spirit of education, n silently smoothin out the matter without any undue embarrassment on their part. Generous t a fault! Yes, sir! Convince em all it was good doin business with ya. Be honest if ya could, n sorta if ya couldnt. The Dean of the Ed. Dept. knew damn well somebody'd been bamboozled by the look on his face at graduation ceremonies, shakin' his head, rollin' his eyes t the heavens, seekin' maybe an answer. But, he also knew it was never in his best interests t get ya started by askin' foolish questions; 'n anything he asked now would definitely be foolish, him standin' there, naked as a jay bird, on the stage, without his desk. His partin' comment, after you'd picked up yer defunct degree, from a department that didn't exist,
as ya passed on the platform, "OHHHHH! And I suppose we'll be coming back for ANOTHER degree in EDUCATION?" brought grins all round. He knew. What it was he knew, he wasn't exactly sure; but, what the hell, he'd had a bit of excitement thrown inta his tedious, monotonous world.
CHAPTER 30
Institutions are institutions, no matter what their size, 'n always attract a certain percentage of them that seek shadowy niches from which t lash out with their negative influences 'n give 'em the semblance of authenticity 'n credence. Not important what institution 'r what it represents, same rejects can function in all, equally as well. It's not the subject; it's the sickness. Look fer the negatives, fer they have not the skills t build, create, 'r function positively; all that is left t them is t disrupt 'n tear down. So, ya see, the choice of which school position t accept was of relatively little importance. Right now ya were interested in archaeology, 'n the very isolated, two-room school position, located in the high desert mesas, seemed the closest t what you'd really got inta teachin' for: t pursue yer interests 'n personal studies. T learn, t know was the prime directive in everything.
Why the last teacher had left in mid-year 'n why the school couldn't keep qualified teachers, ya soon found out, 'n it wasn't due t its often snowed-in, geographical isolation. The first meetin' of the four families gave ya more'n enough clues. One's introductory comment, "Is you a nigger lover?" gave ya somethin' t think about. All the families were well-off cattle ranchers who killed the coyotes that killed the sheep they didn't have 'n killed the hawks that killed the chickens they didn't have; nor were they on the best of speakin' terms with each other -- at least three of the four weren't, 'n they were all related. Not quite as bad as the Hatfields 'n the McCoys, but right around in that general direction someplace. One, who had more outside contact, acted as a moderatin' influence on the lot of 'em. The school was two rooms. An old gal, workin' on an emergency provisional certificate, had three students, grades 1-3. You got 7 students, grades 4-8. There was another squat old gal that acted as janitor, also related, always smilin'. Danger, warnin', 'n beware signals went out the first time ('n every time after) ya saw her. If anybody was inta stirrin' up things, it'd be her 'n the old emergency provisional, and, surprisingly enough, not the parents. They'd tag along, but these two was the ring leaders. Kids was impressed t no end that a teacher could do math, science, English, 'n understand history 'n geography. They were all highly independent, completin' everything themselves. Big often helped the little at times, but only if it was absolutely
necessary, as their whole education had taught them, way out there, that if any teachers came by, not t expect much from 'em. Got 'em readin' books, workin' labs, field trips, 'n general school stuff, but all positive. Sorta was a whole new way of lookin' at things in the often hostile, antagonistic adult interaction around 'em. Upset the apple cart, more 'r less, the cranky emergency provisional's, fer sure. The kids was good. The grown-ups had the problems. Ya knew the old emergency provisional was gettin' uptight 'n feelin' threatened when the kids from her class would drop over fer math help. Beyond two place addition, subtraction, 'n multiplication, she was really stretchin' it; 'n the New Math that was goin' around was absolute Greek t her, even after you'd tried t explain it t her, upon her request. More clues: A positive person can 'n will learn near anything within reason. Negatives got problems. She complained t the board, as there wasn't really a community around t stir up, about the foolishness of hands-on labs, frivolity, 'n about seein' you outside the class one day, after all the kids had gone home, fixin' up an outside lab fer the next day. "Why he's supposed to sit at his desk until 4:30, and then he may leave." You could see why the other teacher had left after a few months. Jus' got tired of the hate they kept up amongst themselves, ran outta energy, 'n left. At times ya felt like a real outsider, one that refused t get involved in the community spirit of hate. Everything got hated amongst 'em. They'd take sides on the
most insignificant happenin' 'n hate it from both directions. Don't seem too logical. Yea 'n nay ya could understand, but nay 'n nay? Think about that one awhile. The old emergency provisional would sneak around, peekin' through door cracks, tryin' t maybe come up with tidbits. Kids'd open the back door 'r the one separatin' the classes, at times fer somethin', 'n she'd get thumped real good on her butt. We even watched her one afternoon when we'd walked up the small hill, fifty yards away, t do some geography. She was sneakin' 'n scurryin' around in a crouched position, peekin' in windows outside our class. Sorta cute. She'd been stickin' around t talk t the squat old janitor gal lately, instead of promptly leavin' on her twice daily, hour long commutin' trip. Lately she'd fallen from the prestigious heights of the community's (?) top gossip monger t babblin' village fool, creepin' around 'n peekin' 'n prattlin' on things of no significance t anyone. Probably gettin' pretty desperate, which leads t illogical gropin' fer anything. She hadda come up with somethin' spectacular t regain prior status. Hah! Fat chance there, the life you lived: studyin' animals, minerals, plants, 'n artifacts way out in the desolate, icy, windy mesas all free time. If ya find the next amusin', it was 'n still is! At the time it was merely somethin' ya shrugged off, of no consequence whatever. It was gettin' dark 'n ya had jus' returned from the hills, when ya noticed pickups skiddin' t a halt at the school 'n the squat old janitor gal runnin' about in hysterics,
wavin' her arms 'n shoutin', "He's finally done it now! Oh, God help us all!" Seems somebody had called an emergency board meetin'. Hadn't had electricity 'r phones until recently t make this emergency meetin' possible. All were there. Some tryin' in vain t calm the old janitor down. They all went inta the class. Ya slowly wandered down 'n stood in the open door, leanin' on the doorpost, quietly observin', with interest, what was unfoldin'. One of her shriekin', "He cohorts with the devil!" woulda been enough, but she kept at it, scarin' all the owls about. Breathin' pretty heavy now, she stood quiverin', pointin' an accusin', tremblin' finger. "There is evidence. Oh, yes! Oh, yes! We now have evidence. Where does he go in those hills. We know! He cohorts with the devil. He has now gone and trapped the Devil himself and brought him into our midst. See! See for yourselvesl" More tremblin' finger, but now pointin' t the aquarium accusingly, not darin' t get too close, bein' sure t keep her tremblin' 'n quiverin' at a safe distance from the incarnate of evil hisself. The board, seriously considerin' the accusation, hurriedly conferred on the matter around a school work table in a special "closed-meetin'" huddle. Shortly, the one appointed t be "bold 'n most darin'" took a deep breath 'n cautiously inched his way up t the aquarium, examinin' its contents with the utmost studious scrutiny 'n sobriety. The next in line did likewise. One after another they filed past 'n then converged in another "closed-meetin'" huddle. Took a quarter of an hour. Durin' the which yer sides
all but split with tryin' t control bustin' out in laughter at the ultimate comedy scene that Charlie Chaplin couldn't have milked so well. But, unfortunately, t them it was of the gravest concern. It hadda be fer them t put aside their resentment fer each other, though none was ever manifest t you personally. What they had so gravely 'n solemnly observed 'n were now passin' judgement upon was a small salamander, four inches long, in its axolotl stage, still retainin' its small external gills, due t the lack of iodine in the water; 'r it coulda been one of the worms put in t feed it. Probably conferrin' as t which one was the devil hisself right now, though. They, at last, after much deliberation, through their elected head spokesman, pronounced a carefully couched verdict that their solemn findin's were that, "though it does indeed appear to be the Devil himself, we feel it is most likely a clever disguise." Yes, sir! Those o1' education textbooks are jus' chock-full with stuff like this t prepare ya fer what lies ahead. You don't think isolation works on ya? Got nothin' but their fears a-gnawin' away on 'em. They were all devout Catholics, except the fundamentalist janitor biddy. Appears ain't hardly none of us safe. On first arrivin' here you'd got right inta takin' the desolate mesas apart geologically, biologically, 'n archaeologically-wise. The kids had told ya all kinds of stories their parents had picked up, when they were kids, from the last of the indians that had occasionally camped here. It sounded promisin', but nobody'd been able t find
the legendary, long-ago battleground where the two great tribes had had it out -- winner takes all, which didn't sound very indian. Sneakin' up, unsuspectin', woulda been more down their line. By the end of a month you'd uncovered everything from cerrugerite t gypsum, but few artifacts. The kids tried desperately t help ya, but the truth was the area was vast 'n extremely difficult t get from one mesa t another mesa, often separated by steep canyons. Strategy time. The whole place was volcanic in near all its forms, with meadows created long ago in eroded lava 'n with Juniper trees speckled ferever. The clear, sunny winter days were deceptively warm; instantly, when the sun went down, the icy winds near froze yer bones. Summer would be searin' hot, suckin' any moisture outta everything that wasn't bred t survive in an oven. If man had lived here, 'n evidence seems t point that way, this was the climate he hadda survive in. Inquiry had revealed no bird points, which made it even drier. Arrowheads 'n Atalatl points occasionally showed up. Two entirely different cultures with different lifestyles had occupied this vast area, 'n now, POOF: potentially thousands of years fer the Atalatls, maybe only a few hundred fer the arrowheads, all now found on the same surface. If one was gonna get t the bottom of all this, a lotta pieces would hafta be put together, many of which no longer existed. Could take years. Unless!! Unless of course ya had an indian. "Well," ya say, "he'd only help you go back a short ways and maybe
throw in a legend or two t really screw you up." No! No! No! Talk with an indian that was there millennia ago! There hadda be a way. Jus' hadda. Anything's worth a try. With over two billion people daily scavengerin' through heaps of more'n a hundred million various godlike apparitions, seekin' everything from insights inta lotteries t rainin' fiery wrath on neighborin' denominations 'n dogs, sortin' out one lone o1' indian, 'r his ways of thinkin', outta the rubble might take some doin'. Armed with a rational, scientific determination, along with musterin' up every known field of science 'n humanities you could bring t bear, 'n takin' inta consideration that solitude (rememberin' months 'n months in isolation 'n solitary confinement -- "X") brings out 'n inta play various aspects 'n senses of awareness (that aren't usually perceptible in a hyped-up, instant gratification, TV soap muddle, constant noise 'n clatter media); 'n also takin' inta account that, hopefully, you'd be doin' 'n sensin' the same thing in the same place that the wisest of the wise, ancient tribal leaders sought (t be classified as guidance) fer their people, that, if anything was there 'r possible, no harm'd come in lookin' fer it! Right, Tesla? First, gotta find a genial meetin' spot where he'd (WOW! If ya was a female archaeologist 'n doin' this dummo, you'd need t find a place where a squaw would hang out, now, wouldn'tcha?) likely wanna sit. Not as easy as it sounds. Jus' wouldn't sit anyplace. Hadda be a reason fer sittin' anyplace he'da sat. Most would be long gone,
eroded away. Must be someplace that was here then. Take a heap of thinkin' 'n scoutin' jus' t find a place t sit in these jagged canyons 'n volcanic peaks 'n mesas. Clue hit ya right between the eyes there. In this rugged basalt 'n extrusive diked 'n crumbly rhyolite area, there was really few places t park down the cheeks. Narrowed things down a bit. Maybe hafta try a couple likely spots. Course, he might be some impatient by now, havin' t wait thousands of years fer ya t show up 'n, then, t top it off, piddlin' around jus' t find a place t set 'n POW WOW. What would happen if ya found the wrong spot 'n only got t communicate with an indian back only a couple hundred years 'r so? Blow the whole experiment. Gotta be a spot. The spot. The only possible spot. What's a white man know of the ways of the forest: the arrivals of day 'n night; feel the pain of cold, privation, sufferin', hunger; talkin' t the spirits of the creatures, t treat 'em as brothers? "Got a point there injun! Hey! Who said that?" You out there think it's marble time fer o1' #17, don'tcha? Stick around. May be right! Haven't seen anything yet. Spots was tried, in the heat of the day 'n icy black of night. You heard the phrase, "Cold as hell"? Sure ya have. A guy sittin' right here thousands of years ago coined it. Loosely translated, of course. Things was fallin' inta place sittin', sweatin', 'n chillin', concentratin' on that indian. Where was he? Got a feelin' some weasely little
bastard was probably sneakin' up on ya t do some mischief, fer sure. Better look fer a more communicative injun. Another clue! What would an indian look for? More sittin' 'n concentratin'! The land rose 'n rose, erosion, upliftin' 'n floods; tryin' t think how the land had been geologically, the trees disappeared. A vast plain appeared, speckled only occasionally by a solitary tip of a protrudin' dike. Where would you sit if you wanted t concentrate, t communicate with the Great Spirit, yer Fathers, the Big Canoe Ride, 'r maybe sneak a peek at game 'r a pack of mauradin' enemies? After a couple weeks, yer thinkin' was gettin' a bit chafed. The land became a much greater alluvial, flood plain basin; materials were brought from far away; the weather became even colder; the land became marshy 'n spotted with snow 'n ice. No! No! Somethin' was wrong. Whatever it was ya were doin', it had come t a dead end. Didn't make sense. Maybe it was all in yer mind anyway? Another dummo. Things had been fuzzy lately anyway, harder t think, concentrate. Maybe jus' tired? Couple hours a day, more on weekends, didn't seem too much. It was gettin' hard t retain the pictures that were gettin' drawn in yer mind, what with havin' t look around 'n continually take in more of this mess of crazy canyons. Then it hit ya. You'd been sittin' in that great plain of long ago, exposed. You'd definitely felt exposed 'n vulnerable. Somebody could've, 'n might possibly have, been
watchin' ya. No indian would ever put himself in that position. One could not afford 'r effectively seek higher things in a state of nervous anxiety fer his skin. Could it be someone had been watchin' ya, someplace? Ya returned t that exact spot, 'n, bit by bit, the same picture appeared. Slowly, ya swept 'n built the picture, creatin' a giant circle of immense proportions. Half way through 'n nothin', straight ahead t the tip of yer right shoulder. No fast moves. Slowly ya returned yer eyes t the startin' point 'n continued towards the tip of yer left shoulder, reconstructin' everything. Took a quarter of an hour t put it together without movin' a lick. When ya reached the tip of yer left shoulder, nothin'. Nothin' but the cold sweats, impendin' somethin', like a bad dream; but you'd licked those. A premonition of rapidly approachin' violence 'r death. You were absolutely alone there, at least accordin' t the calendar hangin' on yer wall. But, whatever it was, it was right behind ya -- lookin' down! Any fast jerkin' around 'n you'd lose the picture. It was no longer a mere premonition, cold, chilling, 'n suffocating; it was a reality. It was there 'n it definitely was gonna sink a hatchet inta the back of yer head. It was real: the sweat, the chilling, the suffocation, the racing pulse. Could a contact have possibly been made, bridging hundreds of generations, thousands of years? Who he was 'n what he was now doin' there ya now knew. Dammit! Sure, the place was important, but not so much as somethin' else that had entirely slipped through yer fingers. The hour!
He was a warrior, granted. A veteran, battle proven, scarred, without fear -respected. Whatever else he was 'r could have been is of no consequence, save the performance of one duty. Of all his tribe he was the one appointed t go t the high place at the sacred hour t seek the Great Spirit 'r whoever it was that had appeared t 'em in their legends 'r even possibly more recently, maybe even t this warrior. This warrior would not only be a positive believer, open and expectin', but would also possess the highest capacity energy output possible of his whole tribe, on that pinnacle --besides bein' without fear t meet whatever showed up 'n not turn tail. This guy was ready t parley with the gods, in whatever flamin' apparatus they showed up in. Sand, baby sand! In this new light, ya focused yer energies on the premonition of immediate, impending violence as a contact point. "If we have indeed met, my millennial friend, we'll not face each other with fear. You'll see that there's still mettle in the spirit of man." Slowly, even more slowly, ya continued the circle, makin' sure the icy doom was still there. After five minutes, a dike didn't disappear but continued t rise 'n rise until the pinnacle was reached, a good fifty feet high 'n sixty t seventy feet in back of ya.. How ya had missed that one strata, of so many different colored strata in so many varried angled peaks goinnowhere in various stages of erosion was no great mystery.
Reconstruction of an original scene would produce a land form entirely different than what now lay in front of ya. When ya finally saw it, ya focused everything ya had on it, "If you wish t say somethin', say it! If you will ever be heard, it will be now!" Whether what passed was only in yer mind, who will know, but the spirit caught fire 'n burned inside, hot against the approachin' icy wind as the sun was gettin' lower. Slowly ya walked t its base 'n climbed t its pinnacle 'n entered a small, sunken, natural-walled circle. It was at this moment yer insides burned even hotter as yer eyes fell on a small rock shelf t an expertly crafted golden jasper hatchet/tomahawk head. It almost felt like a violation t touch it, while, at the same time, an insult not t pick it up 'n admire its craftsmanship; yet it seemed overpoweringly familiar. It had laid there millennia -- waitin'. But no indian could possibly "forget" such a prize, nor was it in a lost, unfindable location. The Folsoms would leave their exquisitely fashioned Atalatl points at the sites of animals they'd killed, as a sacrifice, a trade, an offerin' t communicate their respect fer the spirit of the animal. With yer new map, the view from the pinnacle was spectacular; right off, ya spotted eight campsites. One camp ya visited that evenin' was as it was left, thousands of years ago, with a mindbogglin' array of tools, knives, needles, toys, 'n atalatl points, some with small lichen holes workin' their way inta 'em. Ya sat at it fer a spell. It had a
very personal attraction, almost like ya belonged there 'n were expected t say somethin' casually like, "Oh! It went pretty good today. We got a great horned deer 'n spotted a sloth." Small talk all round would continue. Then, without thinkin', somethin' came outta ya, so natural that it was terrifyin'. "There was a strange one on the plains today, sitting." Yipes! This was all in yer mind! Nothin' more! But, then again, look at it this way. If, perchance, it wasnt all in yer mind, would it not be scary t realize man's potential? Whereas, if it was all in yer mind, would it not be depressin' t realize what we had not the capacity t do? Perhaps in this light the obstinate can now permit the luxury of hopin'. One site, high on a mesa, was worked, as it was soon discovered that numerous tribes had used the same spot t camp, cook, 'n Pow Wow. Flat-tipped atalatl points could be found down t the three-foot level. Then ya came t a level of activity that changed abruptly inta huge, round points, a pound 'r more, apparently fer spears of immense size, much cruder 'n made of an andesite material. Beautiful agate 'n jasper had been the order of the day, until now -- some of which was not t be found in local deposits. Tradin'? The charred bone fragments changed 'n got much larger. A large object was encountered that wasn't a rock fer the circle. Slowly uncoverin' it revealed a skull twice the size of the cattle today 'n very long. Could it be a giant sloth? You'd found fossilized camel toe bones on a site a hundred miles south, a few years back.
These indians tackled huge animals with huge, crudely made spears. The brisket hide alone musta been three 'r more inches thick. Definitely need the power 'n thrust of an atalatl on an animal of this stature, unless these large spear points were t fit a couple inch thick shaft fer close-up, trapped animals. You'd hafta be a Hercules t throw a spear with a shaft 'n point of that size 'n weight very far. Besides, shafts of that size 'n strength would be extremely difficult t supply, unless there were indeed "marshy" areas nearby t supply large willows at that time. Pheeeew! The mind may have done it t ya again. This was gettin' very interestin'. A five pound chunk of broken shaft of somethin' pestle-like was found, four inches thick, not made of local materials, 'n definitely not a one-hander fer sure. What was it doin' here? These weren't grinders of grain. Hard shelled nuts maybe? Objects at this level were all big 'n crude. Nothin' was immediately underneath this level. This was where this culture entered the scene, developed, 'n disappeared. But, jus' t make sure, ya went down further. Six inches. A foot. Eighteen inches. Two feet -- nothin'. Then, at two 'n a half feet deeper, worked chips appeared of a dark brown jasper. Then arrowhead points started appearin'. This meant that the atalatl came later than the bow 'n arrow, at least here it did. A superior 'n more powerful weapon t deal with much larger game. The thin-shafted, small-pointed arrow gave way t the huge-shafted 'n pointed spear that gave way t the medium 'n short-shafted 'n pointed atalatl throwing stick. Shame the short shaft, along with its
counterpart, the notched 'n elbowed throwin' stick, could not somehow have been preserved. Anyway, near a yard of deposited sediment separated the bow 'n arrow culture. Years? Millennia? Yer guess is as good as the next amateur biologist/geologist/ archaeologist. Of the three extremely different cultures, one had died out, moved on, but not been chased out by another tribe. The campsite was too valuable, especially with an artesian well at hand, the which no longer existed, not t be used 'n taken advantage of. Somethin' happened. Somethin' naturally that had forced 'em t leave 'n stay gone a long, long time. Climate change? Drought? Cold? Interestin' speculation. Nothin' more? Naw! Anyway, the next t show up, the big crude guys, were most likely out competed 'n chased off by the much more sophisticated atalatlers. Later, with the aid of yer new millennia-old map, ya even found the legendary battle ground where the two great tribes "had had it out". It would appear, from how the land forms lay today, that they both squared off on two opposin' hills 'n converged in the valley. But the real map portrayed a much different, but more true t life, scene of conflict. One tribe permanently camped by a small river (lots of chips, tools, scrapers 'n general household implements -- not stuff you'd probably wanna drag inta battle with ya) on what was originally a great plain. Their tools were all of high quality agate, often
very beautiful, 'n their atalatls were flat, squared-tipped. The opposin' forces, with their coarse-materialed, rounded tips, had caught 'em at camp, somehow unawares -- early dawn, perhaps night. The battle took place in the camp itself, with small sorties on the perimeter afterwards. The attack had been repelled! The camp had had the advantage, which was the reason they were attacked in the first place. Their territory included: the possession of deposits of fine, high quality agate --sharp as broken glass; a ready water supply that would not only contain resident fish (chubs, suckers, dace, 'n gobies), but also any migratory, spawnin' species that came up this connectin' path from a much larger river down south; 'n with this shallower, possibly marshy, river would come an abundant supply of willows, cattails, 'n possibly some migratin' waterfowl 'n animals needin' a year round water supply, especially in the hot dry summers. In a nutshell: they were better armed, fed, 'n healthy. Ah yes, 'n home court advantage -- their squaws 'n kids could also fight with scrapers. The attackers, possessin' significantly fewer 'n lower quality points, would also be tired 'n hungry from a forced night march (Remember the pinnacles?) 'n would have no squaws t help 'em. Don't knock it! A woman fightin' fer hearth, home, 'n kids is a formidable opponent, often underestimated in male war strategy. Hours of scrapin' hides with one t two pound, fist-sized 'n shaped scrapers, with razor sharp, broken-glassed, curved scrapin' edges --
a shorter version of the notorious Turkish scimitar -- would easily disembowel a thin skinned indian, crush his skull, 'r near decapitate him with an axe-like swipe. They knew how t tackle tough hides 'n separate flesh from bones; 'n with constant threat, what do ya suppose they might talk about, now 'n again, 'n plan? "Dis is how I do it ladies, swish, swish, swish! Squaw don't do him no good no more where he goin' " Probably be lots of laughin' goin' round along with more swish, swish, swishin'. And what with all that packin' around wood 'n kids stuff, wheeeee! Probably be salty as hell t boot. Nope! The way ya see it, they'da held their own 'n then some. More'n likely turn the battle. Be like jumpin' inta a cage of wild cats, wanderin' inta that gang with mischief on yer mind. Squaws had their own gauntlet 'n knew exactly where t grab 'n jerk, 'n did, too! Yes, sir! Big buck down t his knees real fast. Best not t count 'em out when push gets t shove. That was the only place ya found rounded tips, all coarse. Guess they never stuck around t try their hand at that high quality material. "Swish, swish, swish!" Don't let Hollywood fool ya. This entrance inta the affairs of men, thousands of years ago, took many hours, days, weeks, even months, but not years. They're long gone, along with their lost customs 'n rites. Definitely not achievin' the spiritual zenith of the eaters of plastic, chemical burgers, 'n viewers of re-runs 'n soaps that were t follow, wouldn'tcha say?
Anyway, finished the year position out 'n accepted another a bit closer t the ocean. Travelin' light, the only baggage worth the packin' was a verification that kids can learn 'n do well, risin' above negative 'n hostile environments, with 'r without teachers, inept 'r otherwise, 'n a dummo stab, that may not have been so dummo after all, at increasin' yer knowledge 'n seein' inta another world, long gone, not with the use of microscope 'r telescope, but yer mind.
CHAPTER 31
The first year's findin's revealed that, along with bein' loaded down with paperwork, indifference had made heavy inroads amongst the school's couple dozen teachers, leastwise among the lifers. They was jus' servin' out their sentence, with the newer ones startin' t plod right behind, most now only feelin' secure within very confined bounds 'n easily threatened by anything different, which translated inta more paperwork. Course, those that wanted t could be exhausted, run-down, 'r even crack up if they so chose. All bein' controlled by the bed they had accepted t sleep in. Amongst many of the students, a kinda "non-involvement" with yerself reigned supreme -- each one tryin' t outdo the other as t who could be the least concerned with their own welfare. "Be the most indifferent. Yes, sir! Step right up. Who can throw yer lives away, the mostest, the fastest?"
Disgusted too, they was, droppin' out 'n turnin' off. High kids bored. Low kids frustrated. Add it up 'n ya got a problem 'r two suckin' reefers 'n poppin' Bennies. Surely somebody else here can see whats wrong with this picture: highly evolved creatures, possessin cerebral cortexes, succumbin t this level of degradation, discouragement n apathy ? What if they cant? T say the school was geared so staff could function would be a misnomer, but, as it had evolved, it was now tiltin' lopsidedly more in that direction than t maximize the potential of the students. Lots of frustration generated squabblin', which meant that, if ya continued in the present assembly line production, the end product would predictably be the same, an unnatural learnin' situation. Best t junk the whole mess 'n develop a more natural flow. Give each kid a shot at his dreams, at least fer this one year in their lives. Keep 'em fed with stuff that gives personal goals reality, meat. Let 'em see if they can really do somethin' fer themselves: suffer, sweat, groan, strain, screw up, 'n see if theyve got what it takes when given the chance. Maybe their only chance, at least on this discard 'n reject laden assembly line goin' nowhere. Somebody gives ya the "Keys", least ya can do is try usin' 'em. Even a dummy don't pee on his dreams. Tantamount t kickin' hisself in the nuts! Goin' fer such high stakes as these, no matter what, you was disposable at that cost. No backin' out. How long would the system permit such infringements on a
mediocrity that created 'n rewarded "Hup, one, two," followers? How far could ya go? How long before exhaustion 'n frustration took their toll? Figurin' that all participated in the chuckin' of boat rockers, you'd best let 'em all go about their ways, lookin' rigid, perfessional, 'n of some import, ignorin' 'n forgettin' as many as possible. Still expected: loonies in the cracks -- negatives showin' anybody that'd listen how illiterate they were; and, where bucks was concerned, fingers, from all quarters, in the till; not t mention indifference t everything except mediocrity, guardin' it with a passion. Surprisin' how accurate this pattern is, count on it. May not think that's the way it is in yer particular corner, but count on it still. Get pokin' round some, 'n it'll not let ya down. As it stood right now, the kids weren't geared fer learnin' nor was the system nor did the system wanna be; but the kids did, which in reality turned out t be of no concern 'r interest whatsoever t the system. Does that make any sense? Maybe in a system where all "acceptable" solutions t any possible problem (i.e. the student) must arise from grill 'n drill 'n discipline it makes more sense. Is standoff the right word? More hands-on labs, shops, centers, large critter handlin' aquariums (both fresh and salt), 'n terrariums were set up, along with a high-interest area sign up chart, fer a short daily field trip with a half dozen students t local paleontological sites (marine n'
plant fossils), ponds, creeks, 'n forests fer study, observation 'n biological art --usin' personal transportation durin' a lined-up block of time durin' lunch, recess, 'n library. A point: The perpetual problems of fightin', cuttin' class, insultin', disrespect, indifference, 'n drugs that existed throughout the school were not t be found within that class. Scores shot up. Slow students rose rapidly -- two t three years. Kids wanted inta that class, fer no other reason than t learn. Parents wanted their kids inta that class. Those that made it in found a year of peace within themselves, away from the hostile, rigid structure of indifference 'n rote. Anyway, you were findin' out whatcha wanted t know. Another, "Gotta think long term on this one," Real long term -- was emergin' its head 'n lookin' around, grinnin'. Could it be possible? Absolutely insane!! The third year, a new, first time, ultra-conservative administrator showed up, who literally came unglued 'n wanted nothin' t do with any of this unproven, waste of time, hands-on approach. Shame, he shoulda looked at the kids' Standardized test scores 'n lack of behavioral problems 'r drug use -- woulda made a believer outta anybody, lest, of course, ya didn't wanna be a believer. Spent the year comin' in 'n criticizin' 'n deridin' the kids in class. Yer experienced 'n cooperatin' past administrator, an honest guy, suspectin' things unscrupulous-type things --goin' on up in head administration, got the hell outta there before it all came down with what the State Fact Findin' Committee was
gonna uncover this year. From the beginning, it didnt hardly take ya nothin' flat t work out the scam the head office was pullin' on the locals. Remember "fingers in the till" stuff? Deep in the till here! This town was gettin' sold down the river. Well, that's their problem. You had more important things t piece together that involved independent programs fer each kid -- absolutely unheard of here (because ya never mentioned it t anyone). How far could ya go before they all chucked ya. They'd never seen anybody with such determination t get the good outta kids. Old cranks, usin' twenty year old lesson plans, blamin' low scores 'n student problems on "bad kids" 'n "no respect for anybody anymore", saw one class succeed where they'd failed. Their excuses, 'r any excuses fer that matter, weren't worth diddly-squat. These kids weren't bad. Ya wanna see BAD? Well, that can be arranged! These kids here wanted t learn; and, given the chance, they extended themselves beyond what any thought possible, amazin' themselves at their potential. On scores, black 'n white. Ya rightly figured yer days were numbered the first time the new administrator saw all the students in yer class quietly goin' about different projects, not needin' "continual teacher guidance", what with him bein' a strict proponent of the "way it should be" school with "everybody doin' the same thing all at the same time". The club had now become a pencil, but they still hadda all be beatin' on the paper all at once.
With this in mind, other arrangements had been made. South America looked pretty good. All them new species of critters jus' a-waitin' t take a chunk outta ya. Hardly wait. Fer what it's worth, fer you prospectives way up there in the future, this is what was tried t be accomplished, pushed as far as tolerable, negative factors 'n pure, physical exhaustion-wise. Let's hope your reception, by students 'n parents alike, will be as wholeheartedly 'n enthusiastically received, 'n they will, by then, make sure positive, 'n results-givin', hands-on, practical programs will be kept on the high priority, front burners, unhampered by the negative illiterates, the whack, whack, whack cure alls. Huh? By usin' a few examples you should be able t get a handle on the class
as a whole, either that 'r thoroughly confuse ya. You'd often seen the small, quiet, polite boy standin' in the hall outside his classroom door bein' punished fer somethin' 'r watched him bein' jerked outta P.E. by his hair 'r ears., the preceeding couple years. Always silent! He never said anything, nor did his parents, until now, when they demanded that he be put in yer room next year, along with another couple hundred parents doin' likewise, didnt set too well with the new administration. Don, the tiny ten year old, did his work quietly, but always appeared stressful. Took a week before ya figured it was time ya try some communicatin' with this critter that evoked such wrath from teachers every time he
opened his mouth. All teachers punished him t excess. The ten year old curse of the school. A shot in the dark? Not really! Took a week. Nothin' was sacred from yer scribblin' -- desks, walls, books, kids, whatever was handy. Casually wanderin' by 'n scribblin' the Pythagorean theorem, along with some variables, on his desk, you continued wanderin'. No questions were asked, nor would words be even necessary in communication here, that is, if you'd read the signs of the trail correctly. He stopped his work, jotted somethin' down 'n went back t what he was doin'. Wanderin' by 'n glancin' down. Hmmmmm! Interestin'! Couple days later, repeat performance -- only this time a cute bit of an unfinished algebraic equation. Five seconds later, a very perplexed ten year old looked up 'n very softly 'n politely, "Sir, this problem cannot be done. On a hunch, you'd unraveled the silence. Why the silence? Somethin' was workin' here that wouldn't be solved with words, only deduction. Picture this: Here is a very polite, well-dressed, well-mannered child who is continually gettin' jerked, slapped, sent out in the hall, 'n t the office fer further punishment 'n whose parents were both mild 'n soft spoken, respected business folk of this community on the "OUTS". Why are THEY silent? Why aren't they squawkin' 'n raisin' hell? Unless they
know somethin'? Why is no attention brought t this kid? And that is what ya hadda find out; what did the parents know? Took ya a week., hey, 'n no words were used. "OK, kid. Whaddya feel up t? You name it, 'n we'll go from there." He was silent, tense, 'n a slight twitch was all ya got outta him. "Hey, relax! Ain't nobody gonna beat the crap outta ya! Leastways nobody comin' through that door while we's in here tryin' t screw up the system. Rest on it! Could give ya some suggestions, but wouldn't take 'em myself, so why bother givin' 'em t ya. If ya can't come up with nothin', well, that's all right, too. Might try a few things 'n if they catch on, we'll go from there. Oh, by the way, if ya feel like ya gots a little spunk 'n you'd like t try usin' some of that stuff ya gots upstairs, give it a whirl. Maybe we can give ya a run fer yer money. Course, it could be the other way round, too. Anyway, it's safe in here." Shortly he loosened up n zipped through the high school algebra n geometry texts in a couple weeks each n so we went t physics word problems youd put on the board -- which he ate up -- 'n got introduced inta another world. "Hey, Kid, ya know what a splinter is? How'd ya like t have yer very own a-stickin' in yer finger?" pointin' him towards the wood shop with all its tools 'n stacks of wood. Thats how you first vented n expressed your creativity, as an apprentice makin stage props n art
arrangements for a local fair, right da Vinci?! In between this 'n him a-helpin' other kids out, a quiet calm came over him, as a kid came out, complete with splinters,
grease, paint, n thinkin 'n talkin' n questionin like Galileo n Archimedesold friends of yers. Ya knew it would be a long time before society would be ready fer
these gentle children with their gifts that we needed so badly. Don n others ya knew, r any that walked t a different beat than, Hup, one, two, must yet hide, until their time was ready! Saw his parents halfway through the year; we talked. They knew 'n feared what might happen t him if others around here found out. "When Don told us that you knew, but said nothing, we knew that we had made the right decision." Replyin', "No worry there, ma'am, of them ever figurin' out what's goin' on, not in this here education system." They commented they were very hesitant about mentionin' anything t ya, prior, on what they'd like fer their kid; and, after much observation of the other kids ya had, they made the decision t entirely leave it up t you. "We knew you would only do exactly what he really needed, regardless of anyone. In that we were immovable. We thank you for the first year of peace he has had in school." Good folks. Hmmmmm? Don't ever recall comin' across "buyin' a kid peace" in any of the volumes of educational objectives. They weren't all as sharp as Don, not yet anyway. There was Jerry. Roly poly, loudmouthed Jerry. Came inta the fifth grade on the second grade level in everything. His folks knew he wasn't that swift upstairs, 'n his past teachers'd passed him on jus' t
get rid of him. Took a couple weeks of observin' as usual. Playin' games -- the kind people play --never did set too well, so ya never did yet involved with 'em. Up front, straight, bull by the horns all the way. Administrators 'n dignities'd climb walls, duck in corners, and, in general, cringe. Nobody's foolin' nobody, except yerself, if ya think so. "Jerry, not gonna tell ya nothin' ya don't already know, but never had anybody with a lick of mercy come right out 'n lay it t rest. It's bad! Lookin' bleak! Second grade -- 'n that's stretchin' it some -- ain't gonna getcha what yer lookin for." He knew ya wasn't talkin' about cars, toys, T.V.'s, 'n the like; no games here. "Might be a way we can fool the whole damn world though. Take some doin'. Don't pull somethin' like that outta yer hat without wantin' t somethin' fierce! Got somethin' in mind. Could be a dream you could get a handle on. Folks don't know thatcha don't know, lest ya lets 'em know by openin' yer mouth. More can be learned by lookin' 'n observin' than babblin' like a fool. Somethin' ya can work on. Now if we can getcha up t fifth grade level skills, ya gotta chance of enterin' this world unsuspected, if ya can do at least one thing as good as 'r maybe a little better'n the next guy. We're gonna use yer interest in cars 'n motors t get ya there -- tools, nuts, bolts, motors, parts, car catalogues, 'n magazines. Now if ya don't buy that, well, lookin' bleak, Jerry! That's shootin' straight!" He worked his butt off 'n kept his mouth shut, observin'. Readin' catalogues, writin' car stories, 'n measurin', calculatin', 'n recordin' with tools were his life until he entered the fifth grade in four
months. Give a kid hope that's real, grounded, got substance, 'n he'll go fer it. A chance! A real chance. End of the year came 'n knowin' what most teachers was like in this system, "Jerry, ya now gotta chance, nothin' more! Remember that. Gotta play the cards yer dealt the best ya can. Now, that chance ya got ain't gonna get took from ya, even if ya fail every class they put ya in 'n there ain't no diploma at the end of the trail 'n them what knows comes up with the most confusin' educational babble ya ever heard t explain why. Don't let it work on ya. Ya still got that chance with whatcha got right now. Whatcha did fer yerself. That's how it's gotta be from here on out -- doin' fer yerself!" Folks couldn't believe it was the same kid. Tom, as usual these first few weeks of school, bloody-nosed 'n puffed-lipped, entered the class. "Sure came out ahead of it again on that one. Ya work on it, 'n you can come out so ahead there won't be nothin' left of ya." Got some laughs outta him. He blinked 'n stuttered so bad 'n had such a short fuse, he was game fer lots of taunts 'n jeers outside at lunch 'n recess. A fight a day sometimes. "If we could only figure out what it is that gets t ya, might be able t work on it. How's 'Yer mother wears combat boots sound t ya?" More laughs. "Maybe someone around can give us a hand?" absently talkin' t no one in particular. A quiet girl commented very honestly, "He lets anything get to him. It's not one thing. It's how they say it! If they want to get him mad, they can say anything." "Ahhhh, the wench has said a thing! You game, Tom?
Anybody out there in T.V. land wanna help this poor guy on his road t deliverance from hisself?" Another proved her point. "Hey, look at that." Tom was all clenched up. "Ya got some friends out there that wanna help ya. Wouldn't wanna plaster a friend, would ya, Tom?" He agreed when the merit of what the quiet girl had said sunk in. "Tom, ya listen t her, learn t count t ten 'n walk away, 'n you'll be on yer way t recovery faster'n ya know." A few minutes later ya wandered by the quiet girl, "Ya don't say much, but it sure is worth listenin' t. A fella'd do well with you on his side." Within a week Tom had managed, sorta casually, t get seated close t the quiet girl. He felt comfortable, relaxed, 'n kinda secure there. Between an occasional glance 'r murmur between 'em 'n a session 'r two of, "Who wants t take a shot at gettin' Tom riled?" (which only got him laughin'), a great calm came over him. His stutters 'n blinkin' were so bad, except when he was sittin' next t the quiet girl, that communication was restricted t him followin' ya round the class tryin' t get it out. Told him once, "Must have somethin' in there worth listenin' t, all the work yer goin' through t get it out." Then he couldn't do nothin' fer his laughin'; got it out eventually, between chuckles. Perked him up one day, as he was followin' ya round, "Jus' don't try tellin' no jokes, not right yet anyway. Three day punchlines, folksll likely go t sleep on ya." He chuckled 'n relaxed fer a couple days on that one.
His work was slow 'n ploddin' This was a lot better'n the nothin' he'd been doin' the past years, all that time in the office 'r sittin' outside the room 'r too tense t even breathe right. He'd work long periods but get little accomplished, 'n he wasn't daydreamin' either. He was doin' his best. "Got an idea, Kid. May not be worth much, but, if yer game?" A few math problems, a sentence 'r two, readin a few pages of a interestin book, poundin' on a board, observin' a critter, talkin' t a friend, in whatever sequence he came up with, repeated three 'r four times a day, quadrupled his production 'n brought him up t about three-quarters of the daily volume of an average kid, not t mention radically reducin' his frustrations. Tom passed n finished the year without any more brawls. Parents, teachers n the administration couldnt believe it. This was yer first year here. Ya got him inta a class of a new, young teacher who was tryin' t do what she could fer the kids, so he survived that next year; unfortunately, the intelligent n carin young teacher didnt, fed up with the student failin bureaucratic indifference. A few others left also. Before he went on t junior high, ya went over t talk with his teachers, as ya had his schedule, 'n tried t explain that Tom was a kid that really had been tryin' hard 'n wanted t learn but was a little slow. Have a little patience, give him time, 'n he'll make it. The general response was, "He will do the work that is set before him in the time given like the rest of the students. We make no special arrangements for any
students. Now, if you will excuse me, I am busy." Tom came over now 'n again' his stutterin' 'n blinkin' were comin' back -- 'n explained, followin' ya around as ya worked on settin' up things after school, that he could almost get all the work done, but not quite; 'n so he'd received "incompleted assignments" on his work, which was as good as sayin' he hadn't done anything. The last couple visits, he was hurtin' bad -- almost cryin', he was tryin' so hard. A week later, he got in his first fight in two years 'n was expelled from school. Another visit t the junior high only brought the same response. The drop-out rate fer the district was right up there with the top in the state. Not many people ever heard of Frau Von Eichman (another one of these comin' up), the crazed, Nazi zealot, who, at age five, had turned in her mother, grandparents, assorted relatives, 'n her best friends as traitorous conspirators against the Third Reich. She quickly rose in stature 'n esteem in the Nazi Party as its most radical patriot -- due t her inborn streak of vicious cruelty -- becomin' Grand Madam 'n instructor of interrogation methods fer all the Fuhrer's concentration camps fer women. The cruel 'n bizarre reached new heights under her harsh, relentless, 'n rigid fanaticism -- the ultimate dealer in morale annihilation. After the fall of the Third Reich, she disappeared completely. Even no hints of her in South America. Who was protectin' her so well remained a mystery. But three decades later suspicions of her whereabouts 'n benefactor were comin' t light. Another State organization dedicated t the regulation
of philosophies 'n morality of youth had realized its prize 'n quickly grabbed her up 'n ensconced her in its organization, which continually sought such rigid disciplinarians. Exalted t the highest of role models, she had now found a home 'n an outlet t further perfect techniques. It was a young housewife, two of whose family had inadvertently fallen prey t her State approved techniques, and whose morale had been thoroughly crushed; and, if she was gonna save a third, she was gonna hafta expose 'n take the matter t the high courts, which she did. So, by court verdict, her kid was t be in yer room 'r none at all -especially not in that of the peach 'n pearl of the State run education system here 'n the ideal of the new administrator. You don't think he was pissed? In all the days that you had been wanderin' around 'n bumpin' inta nearly all the kinda folks there were, this was a first. A gentle love-of -learnin' nature 'n kindness hovered over this family, with malice towards none. What they had was not t be found in any of the canned scams: religious, social, political, Hippie, Crispy Critter, Flower Power, Guru, 'r whatever other cult 'r sect expostulated, but sought in vain t attain. The first two boys were now at home on the farm recuperatin' their love of learnin' 'n intense desire t read. Nothin' of which, you can be sure, that had transpired 'n what the family wished t calmly pursue, set too well with the school's present administration. Dan would be permitted by his parents t attend school -- 'n that by a
legal court decree -- only if put in your room. The district wanted nothin' t do with what a mother will do fer the welfare of her children. A note: She was in no wise a trouble seeker in any stretch of the imagination. Merely a mother not wishin' t have her family suffer senseless harshness any longer by antiquated policies that had no place in the world t come, a world where her children could live in peace. Again, nothin' was requested or -- forbid even the thought of it -- demanded by these gentle folk. Later on in the year, they mentioned that they knew, "without a shadow of a doubt, that nothing or anyone would dampen Dan's desire to learn, once he entered your room. This matter was entirely settled in our minds." Another one. It appears that once the keys were given t the student, one did indeed need a Keeper of the Gate. Dan was all maybe you wished you could be. He saw clearly, with innocence. No dummy either; a mind swift t learn, search, look for, 'n find the positive in all -realizin' the negative, but not lettin' it influence his desire t see the good wherever it may be found. T have been in his shoes, as a kid, 'n t have had such a mother. A mother who'd stand up t even the greatest 'n power yieldin' institution, may not count fer much hereabouts, even less a few decades back, that's fer sure; but, t yer way of thinkin', a good feelin'd come over ya every time you'd appreciate a good book, discover a new critter, invent a gadget, 'r jus' sit quietly by a pond. A man with a
woman like that by his side! Pioneers of the future! The way things'll be! Mark these words well! You there, up in the future, you owe this woman! Things'll be better, but don't ferget why. Jerked that big buck right down t his knees, she did. They come attackin' yer tipi, don't count the little woman out. The usual couple weeks later, "You do whatcha think's necessary in this class. Got a suggestion though probably the only one worth listenin' t: jus' read whenever ya feel like it." The way he saw things couldn't ever be improved upon. From this kid, you could learn; 'n you, fer one, weren't about t say 'r do anything t alter the effectiveness of this, yer teacher. You wanna deify anything 'n have it t have any meanin', worship Motherhood 'r, as Dan, go straight fer the mother, when adoration grew t reverence. You think we jest? Smell the diapers! The puke! Long hours 'n grief. Hell, look in the mirror! See? A face only a mother could love. Ain't none of us none too peachy the first few decades, 'r after, fer that matter. Can't think of anybody else that deserves this honor, can you? Who? Doin' dirty diapers? Gimme a break! Get him down from his throne; drag him in from Olympus, 'r wherever else they're perched 'r however ya chant 'em up. Be real! Sure, curse, condemn, plague, fire 'n brimstone 'em, 'n even get 'em pregnant 'n commit other generally godlike 'n righteous acts on 'em, but do diapers? Think again! No way,
Jose! See? Thought not. Dan knew where t lay the laurels. Seen it in the eyes of others, too. Could be a movement, ya know! There were things though that were outta yer control, communal sicknesses that were outta anybody's control. Make it short; no need dwellin' on the negative that long 'n givin' it undue priority. It would be well over an hour before the first buses started showin' up at school; 'n that mornin' found ya, more often than not, buildin' equipment fer labs. An aid who got t school early fer playground had, fer some reason, been let off earlier this mornin' by her husband. It was dark, cold, icy, 'n slippery outside, 'n the playground gravel was frozen t the ground. She came in hysterical, ashen, shakin' her head, bringin' in a girl that was always on the playground very early, often in the dark.. Her father left her off there on his way t work. You'd mentioned it a couple times, but nothin' ever came of it. Ya couldn't let her stay in yer room. A real predicament. There was blood all over the place; the aid was splattered; the hallway was streaked; the girl herself was literally a bloody mess. The aid, shocked 'n dumbfounded, could only manage a, "God, can you do anything?" Two things happened: One, ya told her t call an ambulance 'r get her a ride fast t the hospital 'r a local doctor 'n have him waitin'; 'n two, at the same time, ya tackled the problem. That much blood meant artery. Ya quickly found the major source, stopped it, while glancin' around fer others. The
femoral artery 'r its arteriole had been severed, immediately under the patella. The bright red blood was pulsin' 'n spittin' outta the corner of a bone-deep incision, five t six centimeters long, under the left patella. The sharp slice had also severed some bone connectin' ligaments 'n part of the large tendon. Besides the gravity of gettin' that spurtin' blood stopped fast 'n permanently, there was also gonna hafta be some serious reconstructive surgery with those severed knee cap ligaments, not t mention tackin' that tendon. No Band-Aid was gonna work any miracles here. Calmin' her down, ya took her inta the office bathroom 'n worked fast, smilin' 'n jokin' in between gettin' the details. In the dark, she had fallen off an icy apparatus 'n sharp steel had done its best, not t mention all the sharp chunks of gravel that now were deeply imbedded inta the wound after she'd hit the frozen ground. Luckily the aid not only got t school a half-hour earlier that day but also was let off on the back side of the school 'n hadda walk through the playgrounds. The girl had been injured some time prior t her arrival 'n had sought help, 'n then only with hesitance 'n fear, when the aid happened by. A couple things bothered ya: not only that the aid hadn't the foggiest idea of how t administer basic first aid, nor the child fer that matter, but the reluctance 'n fear within' the child t seek help, even if she hadda known where t go in an emergency, which she didn't, only sittin' down 'n comin' near t bleedin' t death; 'n last, but not least, where was that ambulance 'r ride t the hospital, as ya hollered out the
door t the aid, that seemed t have mysteriously disappeared? Maybe she was cleanin' off her clothes. Anyway, calculatin' right along, while holdin' a pressure point 'n flushin' gravel outta the big sliced-open flap of skin with wet paper towels, ya figured she'd lost an absolute minimum of one t two pints of blood already, possible more. The bathroom had become a bloody, paper-toweled, saturated mess. Luckily the secretary also arrived early, 'r you'd probably still be hollerin' fer that aid. She walked inta the mess, cringed, 'n ya thought she was gonna upchuck 'r faint. "Call an ambulance 'r get a car down here t get this kid t the hospital, fast!" In between cringes, grimmaces, 'n shruggin' shoulders in helplessness, she got out, "We can't." Lookin' her in the eyes, "Here's a kid, been bleedin' fer maybe ten t fifteen minutes, with a minimum loss of a quart of blood t vital organs 'n with pale, cold, clammy skin." She had no idea whatcha were talkin' about, but she did manage t get another helpless shrug out along with, "We aren't authorized to call an ambulance without the parents written permission, and this family will not give it." Matter-offactly, "Well call the parents up 'n get a verbal OK" She replied that the parents both work and can't be reached. Motionin' t her t come hold the girl's wrist with one hand 'n apply pressure t keep the bleedin' stopped with the other, "You be right here 'n tell us when the pulse stops 'n she lapses inta unconsciousness, 'r take yer hand off that
pressure point fer five minutes; either way we won't hafta worry about her walkin' outta here on her own. You'll have t call an ambulance then, t take her out on a stretcher -probably dead, 'r soon t be." Yer no games, no nonsense, straight t the truth of the matter shocked her outta whatever game world she was livin' in. A very serious, concerned, 'n frightenin' look, "I guess a teacher could OK the call?" which wasn't fer the kid but fer herself. She still didn't call an ambulance, but went outside, 'n, after numerous inquiries from parents, finally resorted t callin' the aid's husband, who came right over 'n took her, along with explicit details on amount of blood loss 'n time involved before she'd received any first aid 'n how you had flushed the wound, what damages you had found, 'n what he, the aid's husband, was t do if she went inta shock 'n unconsciousness before they got t the hospital. The girl got t press her own first-aid pressure point. The secretary notified ya that the doctors at emergency called 'n said, "She was extremely fortunate to get help and the bleeding stopped and to get down here to emergency when she did; otherwise, with the amount of blood that she'd lost and shock setting in, she would have been dead." Fer what it was worth, ya always kept yer RED CROSS, FIRST AID to the injured, authorization card up t date. Bothered ya some jus' thinkin' about all the cooperation that kid was gettin' in cashin' it in; they were prepared t let that kid bleed t death or, better yet, let someone else let that kid bleed t death.
Sure could read a lot inta that, but, however ya did it, it would still come out sick. Anyway, a week 'r so later, there she was, still waitin' in the dark on the playground, an hour before anybody got there. There were school policies against anyone arrivin' that early, strictly enforced fer most, but in her case? Interestin'. You'd grown up with drugs all around ya 'n saw their influence 'n destruction; 'n what follows next turned out t be nothin' more'n an exercise in futility. Daily there were older kids from the junior 'n senior high standin' outside the elementary school, hasslin' 'n pressurin' the kids inta tryin' drugs -- mostly marijuana, speed, 'n barbiturates. The students in the class were gettin' tired of the threats, but, besides yerself, no one would listen. Contactin' local authorities proved t be a joke, "Kids stuff; no harm done." Further calls were as futile. The County said it was a local matter, as did the State. The Feds had not yet adopted a policy. The main pusher, wouldn't ya guess, was a chief of police's kid. This is in the early Seventies so it turned inta a local joke tryin' t talk the teachers inta organizin' a clean up 'n education program. Hell, more'n half of 'em were heavy inta marijuana 'n pills. Big parties. They'd get onta ya every now 'n then. You'd speak softly the first time, "Well, you can do whatcha please t screw up yer own minds. Try t come over that line! Can't do that!" They wouldn't push it; figured ya meant business. And these were the select, socially acceptable, appointed watchdogs so
carefully screened, squeezin' the last cent outta the district 'n pissin' on their kids. Yes, sir! Words'll getcha in and a conscience will getcha out. An interestin' point in passin': The kids were the only ones that protested drugs -- not the teachers, administration, local, county, 'r state police. Another cutie: By now there'd been some active 'n retired businessmen who'd offered t volunteer their services t you t work with some of the kids in professional interests or homework. The proposal, which hadda go through yer local administrator first 'n then he'd present it t the board, was shot down fast. "No one is permitted to work with a student unless he has completed all the necessary educational requirements and received State Certification." "What yer sayin' here, then," replyin, "is you'll permit a man, let's say with ten years of university trainin' plus internship, t operate on yer heart, liver, wife, kidney, kid, 'r brains but won't permit him t sit down a half-hour 'n help a kid with two place division?" No response. Shame, everything that went through that administration n board yer third year there got shot down. They were their kids, too. Don't seem right a man'd do that t hisself, his family, his friends, 'r his community. No matter how great yer parents are in the class there's always one with their eggs scrambled some. Well, unfortunately, fer those of you out there expectin' somethin' juicy, there wasn't any in yer class after the first year. But, in order t raise yer hopes a bit -- nobody likes t feel cheated -- there was a visitin', out-of-town spinster aunt, who did create quite a hubbub. We would like t call it the Adventure of the Diamond Ring
Scandal Affair. All right with you, Sherlock? Sit back 'n watch a student of yers demonstrate the art of deductive techniques. You too, M. Poirot, might find the use of the "little grey cells" most amusin' -- albeit, by a girl. Times are a-changin'! Every independent thing, in the many independent lab stations that youd set up n she could get inta, she was inta.. Cheerful, quiet, 'n always smilin', that was Jenny. T beat on the wood was not enough; tastin, smellin, scrutinizin, 'n recordin' of grains, knots, resins, insect holes, color variations, hardness, 'n whatever, all came inta play 'n daily life. It was as if she had jus' discovered a new appendage 'n was determined t investigate it thoroughly, much t the delight of the parents 'n the chagrin of the visitin' Aunt Biddy Spinster who made the mistake of showin' Jenny the "hallowed diamond wedding ring" passed on from grandma, a treasure that would be all hers someday. A scavenger on the loose -- ferever searchin' fer somethin' new t test, examine, manipulate, 'n observe properties -- now asked politely, "Please, may I see it?" Such beguilin' innocence melted dear old Aunt Biddy Spinster, "Only if you will be very careful with it, dearie. It's so valuable you know." Jenny held the small open box in front of her 'n steadfastly gazed at it with such an intensity that it startled dear old Auntie but aroused nothin' in her quiet, almost timid parents who were now quite accustomed t how she approached everything with that intensity. What followed next was only new t Auntie.
Jenny politely 'n delicately handed Auntie back the box with the ring in it, never havin' touched the ring with anything but deduction 'n little grey cells. Then equally politely: "The stone is quartz. Please observe the scratches and the uneven facets that don't meet. I think this was mass produced in Mexico because they don't have to pay the workers very much. It's probably not very high quality quartz or they would have spent more time making everything match on a piece that size, about one to two carats cut; that would mean it would be about twice that size uncut. See how they sank the stone way down in the setting? That's to protect it so it won't get scratched too much. See the tiny greenish specks on the mounts, by those tiny cracks? That means the ring is made of some alloy that has copper in it. Maybe it's brass. That has copper in it, I think. Then they cover it with a very thin coat of gold. You wouldn't want to use such a brittle metal for any real diamond. A diamond that size would be worth lots and lots of money." She excused herself 'n left. Needless t say, dear Auntie was furious. Even over the protests of parents, she got on the phone screechin' t anybody who'd listen. She squawked t the school about how, the teacher has filled the child's head with lies, and no telling how much damage has been caused to the child for her whole life. Permanently scarred." She even organized a committee that flocked inta the town's jewelry store 'n demanded t know the value of the diamond ring, only t be indignantly informed that it was, "Rubbish," cheap quartz. Sure raised hell before she finally wore her welcome mat down pretty
thin. She skipped town fast, a whirlwind that went through, disruptin' without the least intentions of settin' things a-right. Didn't end there though, not by a long shot, only the beginnin'. One by one their kids came in over the next few weeks, sent from other classes. Too ashamed t come in themselves, them committee members were. We sorta kept track of 'em fer a while there, at least up t a dozen 'r so. Seems there was around three 'r four more that turned up quartz; n a few YAGs. Seems they all came from the same large jewelry chain up in the next big city. Prospective buyers stopped in now 'n again, inquirin' how t avoid gettin' stung; jus' channeled 'em over t Jenny. Lucky o1' Auntie didn't bring over any of granny's original Chippendales. She was a new breed -- both of 'em were. This mother knew exactly what she wanted, which was exactly what her kid wanted. She was a shrewd one, this young, successful businesswoman. Demanded her kid be placed in yer room, and that was that, havin' no time t waste on any official mealy-mouths. A note! She was assertive, while, at the same time, bein' an entirely positive, no games gal. She plopped her kid down 'n said, "She wants to be a writer. If it's at all possible, it will happen here, in this room. Whatever it takes to find out, do it!" And again, that was that. Lyn, a tiny drip of a critter, was a straight "A" student with her head screwed on right, also. Took a couple weeks sizin' things up, durin' the which she never said anything t force the issue. She knew there wasn't nothin' any kid did in this room that
went unobserved; always lookin' fer the good, the potential, they'd figured that out real fast -- no dummies here. They did beyond their best in everything, knowin' it would all be put together especially fer them, as an individual. "OK, OK!" Goin' over 'n sittin' on the desk top of the student in front of her, lookin' her in the eye, "So ya wanna write?" Gave her a minute t let it sink in. "But what if people don't wanna read whatcha write? Jeeeze, you'd be cryin', bawlin', 'n slobberin' all over the class; probably drown yer mouse." She liked workin' with a little mouse scurryin' around in her desk, as did many other students. "If a teacher don't like yer work, no big deal; but, what say, ya spill yer beans out sweetheart, 'n them up in the big house don't bother puttin' "Sorry" on the reject slip? Jus' how tough are ya? Inside tough! Ya got sand? Think about it, 'n when yer ready, we'll see if we can make ya miserable." In a flash she pulled it out. "A bit bulky there, wouldn'tcha say? What's this, a paper drive? Ya wanna put 'em t sleep?" There were kids in a dozen classes that woulda given near anything t be in her shoes -- get their mettle tested. Ya zipped through the pages at a speed that caused her t gulp 'n then handed the lot back t her, half-read. "They said it needed t be cut in half." Referrin' t Poe, Doyle, 'n Dumas leerin' over yer shoulder 'n noddin' approval, unbeknownst t her. She didn't wait t get back home but started right then 'n there. Worked the rest of the day 'n half the night, she did, only t get a repeat performance of yesterday. Next day she presented it one-fourth the size. She'd figured out ya only read half of it 'r spent
only a minute. She was a smart cookie this one. "Can ya put it on one page?" not returnin' her story. She almost asked fer her story back but didn't. Sharp as a tack. She came in the next day, bleary-eyed, but not from cryin', 'n returned it on a half page. Her one interestin' idea 'n punch line was all that she figured that the reader would remember, as she had; so, that's all she put down. She now got down t serious business. She had an excellent mind, with strong, independent, study habits 'n now had a direction t go t use 'em. Her writin' perked up, bein' her own hardest critic on weak spots, overuse, 'n wordy. Once, handin' ya a story, she asked, twinkle in her eye, "What do THEY think?" Pausin' a moment, silently grinnin', lookin' her in the eye, "They think ya got sand, kid." Someplace around Christmas she started sendin' out stories t publishers. Tickled her t no end t get her first reject slip. She said she knew it wouldn't sell, but she had so much wanted a reject slip, t start workin' on gettin' tough inside. Night 'n day she wrote, wrote, 'n rewrote. Reject slips started pilin' up. Determined! It was now worth yer while t muse over her short stories, so, too, thought the publishers. Notes were now sent back, "I don't know who you are, but you definitely are not a ten year old girl," and, "Sorry we cannot use this, but you might try submitting it to..." She had, by now, by sheer determination outlived a fleet of young aspirin' authors who would have all fallen by the wayside in absolute 'n final dejection. Did we ferget t
say "cute" this time? Well, then, we'll say it here, "Cute," 'cause once is definitely not enough. Shortly after findin' out that she was, "definitely not a ten year old girl," she started a chain of events well worth the ponderin'. As it can't possibly be recorded in all its puzzlin', almost bizarre course of events that followed, we are callin' upon you, yes you, dear reader, if by some stretch of the imagination you are still out there, t stretch ever further that imagination 'n fill in the blanks. Ready? OK! Here we go. She at last made a sale. Her mother said that there were no girlish squeals, though she was indeed happy, but accepted the check as payment for a lotta hard work. She sat 'n looked at the check 'n looked at the check 'n looked at the check. From the time she had started till this moment, she had felt what it really was like t struggle, suffer defeat, rise, suffer defeat, rise, suffer defeat, but still keep on tryin'. The story she had sold held no semblance whatsoever t anything she had originally started out with so long ago. She had, piece by piece, created a style far 'n beyond anything she 'r her mother thought possible, as was witnessed by her stories 'n verified by that check. They were right. She was no longer a ten year old girl, but a shrewd, calculating writer that demanded YOU FINISH THAT STORY. The magazine was no kiddie quip affair, but a top major magazine noted fer its high quality materials it dealt with. The check! Herein lies the substance, the roots of the many hydra heads that were t erupt within this community.
A check signifies money, 'n in this community they fought, squabbled, lied, stole, coveted, 'n lusted fer the stuff. If the check hadda been fer five, ten, 'r even fifty bucks, no major, sustained gaspin' 'n covetousness woulda sprouted; but no, Lyn hadda go 'n learn high quality, professional, public demandin' skills in clear 'n concise communication of caliber ideas that were in short supply --the ones publishers searched for 'n paid BIG BUCKS. The check that she now looked at so intently, after openin' what could well have been jus' another envelope that carried nothin' more'n another reject slip, with no little reason, represented a sizeable chunk of a teacher's yearly salary. When the word got around, a teachers' group was the first t protest, "That is entirely too much money for a child to have, and since she is a student writing stories in school, it, therefore, is the property of the school." They'd drop by one 'r two at a time with their dignified, "of some import", entirely out of the question, version of the same spiel, in their authoritarian condescension, hopin' it would automatically make ya see the error of yer ways; worked on kids, anyway. And, as one of yer new official functions, Keeper of the Gate 'n guardian of those t whom the keys have been given, you'd hand 'em each a paper 'n pencil along with, "There's a lot more where that came from! Oh, 'n by the way, it's been verified, by a top perfessional in the field, out in the real world where it really counts, that she is 'definitely not a ten year old.' Care t see the document?"
After a while when they saw they were gettin' nowhere with their effervescent charisma, the new administrator, along with the district superintendent, approached ya bringin' the (board's?) decision, "No child can use any of the skills acquired in school for monetary gain," 'n demanded the funds be immediately turned over t the school. Feelin' the significance of the document would go right over their heads, you addressed yerself t the immediate buffoonery, "Do you guys have any idea of what you are sayin'? Repeat it 'n listen t yerselves very carefully! Read yer lips. Run it through a tape recorder!" Seein' they were gettin' nowhere, they left. All this, "too much money for a child," was startin' t smack of some long ago, likewise, hard earned sweat. The mother laughed in their faces at the imbecility of such an absurd request, when contacted by them. "Asinine Ninnies," t quote a phrase used in the dialogue 'n now bandied about the community. She called up. "We knew that if it was possible -Lyn's dream to become a writer -- the only way was to get her into your room to find out for sure if she had it in her. She had to know. As you have found out, she is that kind of a girl. Thank you for respecting her wish." Occasionally ya made genuine efforts t eliminate the gaps that existed between teachers 'n students; 'n one woulda thought that yer rather extensive 'n detailed, academic 'n social, comparative analysis skills chart, between teachers 'n students, woulda been of more consumin' interest than merely evincin' gaggin' 'n chokin' on coffee in the teachers' room; especially when the students came out on top in all fields!
Likewise, yer petition, suggestin' t the oldest, staunchest defenders 'n proponents of tenure fer them t form a committee t abolish it 'n get rid of all the deadwood, ya thought woulda been more openly received, but, 'bout lost half of the o1' geezers in one whack there t wheezin' 'n gaspin' spasms. Even tried communicatin' with 'em, but not much ever come of it. You could ask questions like, "Ever occur t ya how whatcha believe is what yer supposed t believe?" all break long, tryin' t get a rise outta them, t no avail. Knew a Spanish kid, long ago, who'da picked right up on that. Nope! Didn't even need an electroencephalogram here; jus' hung the o1' R.I.P. sign on the door when ya left, so's any enterin' could at least be prepared as t what t expect. By yer third year you were developin' a bad taste in yer mouth fer this whole system that went outta its way t stifle students interests 'n abilities in learnin', let alone give 'em a chance t prove themselves. This taste of lowlife was now turnin' t puke. The slimeball mentality games continued from day one with the new administration expropriatin' all the funds approved by board 'n parents t expand the hands-on ideas with, "I felt they could be better used elsewhere." Then the volunteer program got shot down (by the board?), disappointin' some good folks that really wanted t help. Next, when he found out the parents were gettin' together t raise funds t promote 'n create more hands-on labs (parents from other classes were wantin' t help ya, too), he came up with another board meetin' decision, "Parents cannot contribute to the education of their child, or any other child, by donating personal or group funds to any individual class."
T this he directed ya t inform the parents that any such funds raised were t be sent directly t the office fer his officially approved popsicle fund drive, t buy a curtain fer the old gym stage -- fer which they already had one, not t mention they were gonna abandon the old structure soon due t age, safety, 'n fire problems with the old boiler. Then that official board proclamation claimin' Lyn's money from the sale of her story. Is it paranoia, or is this startin' t sound like Animal Farm? Then criticizin' the students at the different hands-on 'n interest centers, tryin' t embarrass 'em, "What are the stated objectives in this activity?" 'n then cuttin' them off before they could reply that they were applyin' math 'n science skills t find the area, volume, 'n ratios of the different spheres, rhombs, pyramids, 'n automobile cylinders, nor probably not even noticin' they were usin' high school algebra and geometry equations t work 'em out. There were over thirty different stations that went from simple activities through university, in each a different field, incorporatin' math/science manipulatives 'n calculations through physics. All requirin' activities from art t geography. All totally independent 'n teacher free -which in turn musta goaded him somethin' fierce when throughout that year we had sixty-seven teachers 'n administrators from all over the state come in specifically t spend time in the room 'n see how it could be done, 'n you get stuck with this turkey. A note: All that came got his officially approved Popsicle fund spiel, which they totally ignored, both comin' 'n goin', excitedly tossin' about amongst themselves things that would excite kids t learn; give 'em a chance t prove themselves.
He later came one day 'n ordered ya t write instructional objectives fer every activity fer every day, retroactive from day one (around 140 pages a day), at the same time makin' one of his criticizin' tours of the kids. Outside the class ya stopped him, "If ya can't think of anything positive t say, then stay outta the class." Also, at the same time, some close medical doctor friends of yers said, "STOP. NO MORE! You have been packing around a serious case of pneumonia for almost two months, and now it's turning into double pneumonia. You stop or you are dead. No more fishing! We know that district. They do that to anybody who has innovative ideas. Bedsides, you have much greater things in store for you someplace up the road -- ALIVE." The school year was almost over, couple weeks, but still enough time fer another cutie. With handin' in yer resignation today in mind, you were summoned t the Superintendent's office, along with yer new administrator, t be enlightened about more games people play. Remember the injured girl incident, where cooperation was almost nonexistent in gettin' her t the hospital 'n possibly savin' her life? Well, ever since then -- you were jus' findin' out now -- the school district had been inundated with law suits 'n legal battles from the parents 'n their church -- a fanatical, fundamental religious organization that absolutely forbade any of its members 'r their children t receive any medical attention whatsoever. Then it came t light about those kids you'd seen at school: with dirty pock marks on their faces, healed over but still stuffed with gravel 'n dirt; kids comin' t school with festerin' infections from uncleaned cuts, oozin' staff
bacteria loaded pus down their faces, arms 'n legs; a few with healed over broken bones, that apparently had never been set, belongin t those depressed, confused, frustrated n ready t explode n suicidal kids youd noticed. The girl's wound itself was
immediately unbandaged 'n was soon dirt crusted 'n festerin' with infection. You were now apprised of all that had been transpirin', fer near the whole year, unbeknownst t yerself until now. As it turned out, had it not been fer yer up-to-date RED CROSS FIRST-AID authorization card -- the which organization was also taken t higher courts, challengin' their authority t issue such permission in direct conflict t freedom of religion, tryin' t override any legality it might have 'n deem the card 'n the organization invalid -- the lawyers fer the church would have forced the State Certification Board t revoke yer teachin' license. The witnesses, the aid, secretary, receivin', 'n attendin' physicians at the hospital, though grilled again 'n again, maintained that no medical attention, medicines, alcohol, iodine, Mercurochrome, SOAP, Band-Aids, gauze, tape of any sort had been used, other than water 'n applyin' pressure points. Even checked the ingredients of the paper towels; and the credentials of the attendin' physicians were likewise subject t legal verification. If Jesus Christ hisself woulda intervened, he likewise woulda been subjected t legal verification of credentials, which woulda been challenged, overridden, deemed invalid, 'n been prosecuted on grounds of interferin' with 'n obstructin' religious freedom 'n tacked right up. Give these guys enough rope 'n they'll hang their neighbors. Nor was
the personal testimony of one attendin' physician considered t have any merit whatsoever. "If I was hurt and needed fast, life saving, emergency first-aid, that's the guy I would want to be there." The superintendent continued, "If there would have been any way that we could have fired you, let me tell you we would have on the spot. We want your resignation now, and if we do not get it, we have accumulated enough evidence to get you fired." So he started readin' off stuff that had not only been stretched, but set up as well! Not using State adopted and approved texts. (Which you did use fer reference, but not fer everything.) Not writing State adopted and approved Instructional Objectives. (Shame. He should have looked at, at least one of the Independent work stations, the ones that all those teachers 'n other administrators were now adoptin'.) Refusal to admit your immediate supervisor into your room. (Cute. He disrupts, insults, 'n degrades students desire to learn all year with cheap, negative shots in the class in front of all, then is informed t keep the negative out the last few weeks of school.). Falsification of documents. T which he added, "Had we known of your background as a youth in boys homes, we would never have hired you." The very cooperative, positive, counselor was, 'n still is, tryin' t getcha t work at an alternate boys home school, after he saw the school's problem kids doin' about faces, n skyrocketin academically. Guess the word got around. These two invertebrates, animals without backbones, woulda made great Boys Home personnelold-liners, fer sure.
Lookin' at him, "What yer sayin', then, is that it woulda been better t have left her alone 'n done nothin'?" Replyin', "That would appear to have been the best decision." Again, "So, maybe things might subside?" Replyin', "Yes, it's good that you're going." Mumblin' t yerself, "Knew some P.E. coaches like that once." Inquirin', as ya was about t leave, "Ya got a sink here?" Pointin' in the general direction 'n askin', "Why?" At the same time, "Oh, jus' gotta wash my hands," curiously lookin' down at 'em. "Oh, 'n by the way, jus' fer the record, do it again, that is, fer the girl. Now a fella comes across them parents 'r you guys, then we'll take yer advice." Anyway, the State Fact Finding Commission investigatin' the school district came up with massive graft, misappropriation of public funds, deception, 'n fraud. Administration was really stickin' it t the locals, who didn't take it none too kindly being led down a dark alley 'n robbed. Too embarrassed t prosecute; tried t hush it all up. Tryin' t hide somethin' stinky like that only makes it smell worse. Chuckin' a ripe skunk in yer back yard don't solve an awful lot. They shoulda let the law work its wonders, 'r maybe a little tar 'n feathers -- at the least, turn them religious whackos loose with some matches. South America was lookin' pretty good, 'n the Peace Corps sounded like a positive ship t sail on. Before ya left there'd been a dozen unsolicited contracts offered, with repeated phone calls of, "Please reconsider! You may write your own program and work with any grade level you want! over n over again from various positive
administrators, but after three years it was over -- finished! That's about the time it takes fer us humans t come t the writin' off stage, physically 'n psychologically exhausted t even do good! Got a letter from Lyn sayin' her best friend did the same thing 'n got published, with other students takin' the initiative, likewise, t pursue their own particular personal goals, skirtin' the school system entirely. Well, you'd verified whatcha always suspected, that if a student was given the chance t pursue personal goals 'n interests, along with certain means, though minimal, he would chuck self-deception 'n independently pursue a natural flow of learnin', resultin' in a far higher level of not only academic but practical 'n transferable skills, far exceedin' any gains made by artificial 'n forced learnin' programs. The only problem is that of establishin' an entirely honest, absolute truth, no games environment within a cumbersome, archaic n very manipulative, bureaucratic system that would lose its very reason fer existence under these circumstances, though there were a few positive, very practical visionaries seein that this was gonna be necessary. Not much baggage, but well worth the packin'. 'Sides, if a fella's got his eye on doin' world things, then that fella's gotta get hisself out there in the world. Remember that, "gotta think long term 'n absolutely insane on this one"? Mind may really be a-doin' it t ya again this time. That's a fer sure!!
CHAPTER 32
After seven weeks in a language school, livin' with some locals, you were ready t function. You'd wound up gettin' sent t a small Central American country that needed someone t develop science laboratories fer its National University. As coincidence would have it, the Padre had visited yer university in the states 'n wanted labs exactly like theirs. Peru 'n Chile were havin' their usual seasonal revolutions, so plop, here ya were. Yer first get together with some of the University's professors 'n department heads in the science fields made ya feel right at home. Wonder if they noticed the hair standin' up on the back of yer neck as yer system sent out "shyster alerts", "beware, area reekin' with con men," signals. No finesse, man! These guys were jus' crude, crude crooks. The Padre, no dummy, jus' said, "Whatever is necessary, do it!" Carte blanche all the way, referrin, after wed talked, t yer new under-the-table job of weedin out
the crooks-- embezzlers t extortionersthat were destroyin his university n denyin the poor their chance/ right t learn. Strategy time, but in a different language. On a hunch, you'd absently -- talkin' t nobody in particular, lookin' at the ceilin' 'r around -- passed little quips within earshot of any secretaries around in the offices of these crude -os, "Is it only me or does anybody else get the feelin' that cows have passed through here?" 'r hissin' softly between yer teeth, "This guy's so oily, wonder how he keeps his pants up?" n "Doesn't seem to make any difference what language he's
speakin', it all comes out snake!" reachin' all new unprecidented horizons in translatin' English t Spanish. The secretaries got t where they'd listen 'n strain ever so intently whenever you'd drop by, not t miss even the slightest, softest whisper, 'r nuance. Couldn't get enough of it, but fer a different reason than one would suspect. The absolutely "Gringo Loco", as you'd suspected 'n verified, was sayin' what they'd been wantin' t say fer so long. The doors really opened up after breakin' the spell these minor macho deities cast on subordinates. It was on a field trip, 'n the only outside spectator was the young driver who'd driven these guys many times on these "investigations" 'n knew they were crooks like everyone else but dared say nothin', when ya put another hunch inta action. After a couple days of investigatin' bars, restaurants, 'n hotels, they were confronted, "gringo loco"-style, in impeccable, vaudevillian Spanish, "This is crazy! Ha, Ha 'n Ha, Ha. You guys know the difference
between a joke and reality? Well, this is what you call a joke." Seeds were planted through a medium much more effective than TV will ever hope t attain -- Gossip! By the time it got told a dozen times, Paul Bunyan 'n Babe the Blue Ox would be small potatoes. In each 'n every different mind, it would incite the story 'n vision they wanted t see, likewise reachin' only those fer whom it would be intended. A few days later, upon returnin' t the University, you were in fer a surprise. Upon enterin' a department ya seldom visited, all five secretaries immediately rose, smilin', "En que podemos sirvirle?" A standard greetin' (though not the everybody all jumpin' up at the ready part), but now with a whole new meanin', "In what way can WE serve YOU?" It was as you'd suspected, though a bit more pronounced. Yer decision had been right on how t start, but now this was new 'n entirely unfamiliar territory. Gulpin', "Jeeze, what's a fella t do?" Now, six months later, there was no doubt -None. Here's what a lotta bull-shittin' with locals, observin', 'n quietly puttin' things together had revealed; without askin any questionsskills youd learned in Juvie, institutions n Homes. All labs were scheduled on holidays, with a dozen 'r more
professors schedulin' the same lab at the same hour. All school vehicles were booked months in advance fer "field trips" -- beer parties, family outin's, 'n vacations. Scholarships, fer academically excellent but poor students, were regularly expropriated
'n disappeared inta the coffers of necessary expenses, i.e. professors' family bills, cars, vacations, etc. (This one smarted! Shouldn'ta done that one boys!). Funds fer lab equipment also disappeared inta the endless cavern. Degrees were readily accessible fer the right price. Grades were bought as a matter of everyday business. Advancement within the Universitys hierarchical structure fer female professors, secretaries, 'n workers was, also a matter of course, through the bed, continuin along. Any volunteers, from whatever agency, were immediately set about t requestin' funds from their respected organizations from around the world and/or set t teachin', so the salary fer a local teacher could be pocketed. The list goes on 'n on 'n on, but these covered the main arteries fer siphonin' off funds from 'n through the University by these parasites, professional leeches! Most of these were of no concern t ya, as the world kept spinnin'. Ah, but like the man said, "It's often the little things that get to you." There were a lotta good folks tryin' t do what they could t help by providin' "becas" --scholarships --fer poor kids really tryin'.. Shouldn'ta touched them scholarships fellas. Maintenance man thinkin' time! Another wildy comin' up: Long shot? Maybe not! This time ya was packin' one helluva hand -- All Queens 'n one wild card high! Couldn't turn a scam on any one of 'em. Unless they was workin' somethin' new, this one department in the whole University was entirely squeaky clean. If anything was
gonna get pulled off, this was where it was gonna hafta be done. The stakes were high. This was a one-shotter! Only way comin' up! So there ya were, preparin' t attack the entrenched, powerful, 'n corrupt elements' established way of life, with a handful of young lady chemists. Puttin' type-castin' aside, they all possessed qualities in common: They were intelligent, well educated, 'n all loved their country, wantin' only the best fer it; 'n the corrupt practices of a few were definitely not in its best interests. We'd spend time talkin' about general things. They'd let a few questions slip out now 'n again. At times they'd get carried away about what they really wanted; 'bout make a fella wanna jump up on a desk, wavin' flags 'n apple pies. The potential was there. The catch was, that in this entirely male dominated, macho society, they, as young females, represented the bottom of the bottom, at times literally on their backs, of this social structure. As follows: Sixth grade teachers traditionally break the girls in fer upper grade teachers, especially coaches n administrators (who also get the teachers, i.e., no puttin out =no contracts.) n prostitution at soccer games. These were similar accounts, when recallin all yer youthful colleagues--Institutions, Juviegettin tossed outta everything, includin public school classes; n sittin outside principals offices, often after school, forgotten, listenin n seein whats goin on inside cracked doors. Breasts are fondled! Clothes come off! Young pleadin teachers r young victims with teachers, Oh, please
Mr._________, not again! as shes lowered t the couch, floor r taken over the desk, cryin n whimperin, r having her head forced upon his unzipped pants as he sits there thrustin, jammin n pantin until its runnin outta her mouth n all over her bare breasts, bra n blouse. This will be our little secret Miss/ Mrs_______. If you ever say anything about this you will never work anyplace again ! r I bet you enjoyed it too!. Youd witnessed one teacher, known more fer her provocative figure n dress than her academic prowess, come in the back door as you sat outside in the deserted front, after school. Would the lacy one I wore last time be OK? as she moved her hands over her breasts and down t her vagina with a quick little pickin up n exposin movement. A regular late rendezvous. These encounters werent no honest n natural two people overcome n out of control with the flames of passion, gettin it on. Guess if yer
desperate n need the job! Later youd learn about off-campus, motel evaluations: To get away from the stressful school environment and be more objective. Males n old biddies still done in school though.. . Anyway, their voices 'n opinions were basically worthless. They knew it 'n
felt frustrated, helpless, 'n desperate. Excellent! Could a fella ask fer more in potential warriors -- smart 'n desperate! Let it gnaw on 'em fer awhile. The spirit was there, jus' lacked sand. These gals was gonna hafta get themselves some balls! They knew you could bandy around math, physics, chemistry, literature, history, 'r whatever, like theyd
never seen before, 'n make 'em work fer ya. This they respected, along with not gettin' taken in 'n fooled by the phonies -- like all the others that innocently came t help -- 'n fallin' inta their trap. Callin' an ace an ace, a snake a snake, why, they'd all stop what they was a-doin', stand up in their offices, smilin', "In what way can WE serve YOU?" fer that. As the months passed, they were gettin' self-respect! The more they put their minds t workin' -- their very intelligent minds -- the more things'd slide inta their proper places 'n perspectives, kinda natural-like. They got together one day 'n asked fer yer help. Grades was comin' up in a few days; buyin' 'n sellin' things cut deep. Semidecisions was floatin' round in their minds; maybe thinkin' that, with a little help, they could pull it off, get shook of this ever increasin' gnawin' 'n festerin'. "Sorry ladies. If it's gonna be done 'n have any meanin', it's gonna hafta be done by you 'n only you!" Cold baby, cold! Let 'em crumble, feel the cold despair of long hours of thinkin', plannin', 'n hopin' comin' t nothin'. The misery of bein' deserted, alone -- ahhhh, nothin' like it! Irreplaceable! This wasn't the first time there'd been tears. Good reason, too. There were students -- repulsively worthless, from powerful families -- who could get them fired, 'r whatever, as they had others, on whatever flim-flam whim they chose t concoct. T be at the mercy of these disgustin'
slime cut deep, even deeper if ya now had some self-respect. Countin' on that! Let 'em chew on it fer awhile. The bitterer the better. Nothin' was ever mentioned 'r suggested as t what they should 'r shouldn't do. What was now takin' 'em apart was all theirs. There would be no light at all in this darkness unless they themselves lit the candle. Then it hit ya. They'd have t do this candle lightin' stuff alone in each of their respected 'n widely separated rooms, with odds like a hundred t one t snuff out any tiny flicker of light 'n hope any young, inexperienced, feelin'-very-threatened female could muster against this horde of spoiled rottens, always havin' their ways. Hmmmmm . . . What could be done t even the odds some? Ahhhh! "Well ladies, if yer gonna cry, ya might as well cry together. Might even drop by, bring a camera; fella sure wouldn't wanna miss somethin' like this." It hit 'em like a thunderbolt. Their eyes immediately registered, "If one of us couldn't pull it off, maybe as a group, together, we could." There were no forward announcements as t their intentions. They were thinkin' now! "Surprise guys!" A few minutes before the grades were t be handed out, a sign was posted at each of the separate classes notifyin' the students where t go. By the time you'd casually wandered by fer a few minutes, the gals had made sure everybody was present; the lines were full. They wasn't takin' any chances of what they were about t
do goin' unnoticed by anyone. One shot, that's what they figured they'd get. All 'r back t grovelin', beggin', 'n on their backs again. As things happen that way, the youngest of the teachers -- 'n what would have seemed t be the most vulnerable, as timid as she was -- now faced the most obnoxious pile of puke of all the degenerate rich, first in line with his wallet out. This guy even bragged about his exploits with other female teachers in front of female teachers he wanted t cower inta submission. Worked on most. What happened next was interestin', revealin', 'n entirely all theirs. She stood up, looked him straight in the eyes, 'n quoted him one of their own new policies they'd recently stirred up, one that we'd expanded t include professors 'n pay (like readin' a felon the Miranda), "You have not attended or completed all of the required laboratories necessary to receive a passing grade," 'n then calmly handed him his failure notice. The guy's mouth 'n eyes were wide open with surprise, astonishment, 'n utter confusion that started turnin' t a stark reality on realizin' what'd jus' happened. All he could do was stand there in disbelief, in one hand his failure notice, in the other his stuffed wallet. Like somebody'd jus' kicked him in the nuts -- which is exactly what she did -- the only place it would register. Between the cuttin' edges of her words slicin' through almost closed 'n slightly tightened jaws 'n cool stare, Caligula came out. No mistakin' it. Read by all. She again, calmly, ushered him insignificantly away with a,
"Next!" that slammed a very final door in his face 'n zipped him up, makin' sure nothin' was left danglin'. He literally bumped inta those in back of him 'n stumbled, starin' at the failure notice 'n tryin' repeatedly t stuff his wallet, that didn't seem t wanna cooperate, back inta his pocket. Immediately, near a dozen students in that line, 'n
more in other lines, who'd read the message loud 'n clear 'n wanted none of the same, put wallets back in pockets 'n followed their illustrious leader, Crudmouth Turdstuff, stumblin' 'n trippin' over each others' deflated egos. Thinkin' t yerself, as ya wandered out leavin' everything in good hands, "Pheeew, it's always the quiet ones!" Later, upon droppin' by, they all rushed up like a bunch of school children. The "timid 'n quiet" gal, "My God, I almost peed my pants!" (A new idiom she'd recently acquired.) "Did you see me shaking?" Lookin' at her 'n chucklin', "Not over them guys shakin' out loose bowel movements. Balls, baby! Balls!"
The Padre got a chuckle outta it later. He'd received so many threats that day from rich families, that all he could do was laugh. "More laughs up the road!" He liked that. Soon he was musin' over with satisfaction, as all the rich, spoiled kids ran around campus with signs, (the picketers were all males) shoutin' t do away with one science department after another 'n fire all the teachers. Hadda perk one gal up now 'n again', all by herself, way over in anatomy 'n physiology. A gal from Poland, sharp upstairs like ya wouldn't believe, she was gettin' the worst of the slime's frustration 'cause she was all
by herself -- holdin' up t it pretty good though. Mentioned her academic qualities t the Padre once, of the which he was well aware. The way he figured it, whoever these vermin weren't protestin' were the deadweight. With labs required, that meant teachers hadda be there because, if they wasn't, they wasn't gonna get any pay checks 'n the students wouldn't get any grades. The Padre got his laboratories, "Como de Estados Unidos." Took about a half year t get that one shot off, tremblin' 'n almost peein' its pants, but that was all it took. The effects of the universitys seventy t eighty percent female enrollment n graduation was bein felt in society. Their new self-supportin ticket t independence was assertin itself n now often chucked their less skilled, motivated n paid,
unnecessary family-disruptin male counterparts. Already it was who, when n fer how longsoon t include their choice of the father of their child. That moment n no more! At the same time another facet of the big picture was bein' worked on -- all part of nailin' ourselves some maintenance men in the act, the search fer an honest man; 'n when he's found, he must be given the keys t the till. Took a while, but the Padre encountered one such man --one who could be neither bought 'r sold, (i.e. one who hadnt gone through the University education
system). Nothin' went out without the scrutiny 'n approval of this new head accountant 'n accordin' t some new, rather all encompassin' guidelines. Mentionin' t the Padre, "There will be those who will protest. Might be interestin' who these protesters turn out t be. May be shocked a bit, those trusted 'n least suspected souls. More chuckles ahead!" Even at that, it took him a bit by surprise who the scoundrels turned out t be, "beyond a shadow of a doubt, trusted 'n honored, all. Such squawkin' 'n hollerin', excuses like ya never heard as these functionless parasites vanished in extinction; n as the leaks were plugged up the coffers were filled t bulgin'. They shouldn'ta robbed those folks of their tryin' t do what they could t help those poor kids tryin' so hard. It really is the little things that finally get t ya. A long shot? Maybe! Save fer a few shore crabs, Petrolithes cinstipes 'n Hemigrapsus nudas, a few gammarids 'n copepods, near everything else down here was new t ya: alligators, crocodiles, turtles, iguanas, snakes, insects, birds, fish, sharks, marine invertebrates, mollusks, parasites, 'n worms; all hadda be looked inta personally. And,the plants, ferget it -- a guy don't live that long with that kinda diversity. Every time ya turned around, ya was probably lookin' at a new species. Ya hit the beaches 'n didn't stop till total exhaustion often set in. You could always feed yerself with fish, fruit, 'n coconuts; 'n the locals -- who ya got t know pretty well -- always had a soup of somethin' stirred up.
Among these locals ya got t be known, not only as the "Gringo Loco", but as the, "absolutamente Gringo Loco con la caa magica." To catch monster corvinas five feet long that only existed in legends was one thing, but t release 'em was unheard of. Logically ya presented yer way of lookin' at it, "But who can eat one t two hundred kilos of fish a day? Besides, they are not mine, they are yours. This is your country, so they have been put back, alive 'n well, t reproduce more. Who could think of destroyin' such a beautiful fish loaded with millions of eggs that represent your future?" They'd follow ya around, at a distance, 'n watch 'n try t catch "grandes", but t no avail. They'd always bring back any of yer lost plugs t the "campesino" where ya kept yer camp, 'n he'd hang 'em up outside on a shack. Extremely valuable t them, they were, but they always returned 'em. One can learn more from observin' 'n studyin' creatures than from killin' 'em. If any locals were really hungry, they could catch a mess of perch 'r ocean catfish anytime. With few exceptions, all money from fish sold went fer "guaro". Most fishermen lived from one drunk t the next. Fortunately they weren't all that way. As you'd suspected, there'd be a few who'd rise above the rabble. Didn't take long t dig em up; matter of fact, they dug you up. There was the aforementioned workin' campesino who had a handful of Brahma stock on his beach front ranch and, when the tide was right, he'd go out in his dugout 'n catch a mess of perch fer his family. Are ya ready fer this? Hold onta yer britches. "...fer
his family" who he was tryin' t put through University. This wasn't no rich country gentleman -- one pair of old worn out shoes 'n pants t match, 'n wife didn't wear shoes. The kids worked hard on weekends 'n attended University durin' the week, travelin' t the big city 'n livin' with relatives. There was always warm Brahma milk, fresh, 'n plate sized tortillas fer the strange gringo who liked milk. Nothin' asked! Nothin' expected! As was the sharin' of yer catch, always savin' a small, yard long corvina 'r pargo 'n splittin' it with him. Nothin' ever passed hands except fish, milk (lots of milk), 'n knowledge that enabled him t prosper 'n aid in sendin' all his kids t University when others were half-starvin' from drought 'n drop in market prices fer beef. To others it was all "pura paja" ( Bullshit )-- laughin' at life's calamities, crooks, bad weather, 'n governments -- but with somethin' else thrown in. If ya listened 'n tried t understand another culture 'n way of thinkin', communication was there fer both of ya: fer one, a wealth of culture; fer the other, a different way of thinkin' that caused him t radically reduce his herd, put in much more corn 'n frijoles, 'n hold till the market was right, not the traditional sellin' season when the market was flooded, 'n become his own middleman. Above all, don't cut down no more trees. To others, it was "pura paja" 'n laughin' at life's calamities, but t him it was a way for all his family t become educated. Yep, Brahma milk, frijoles, 'n critter soup. Both come out ahead!
In between patchin' him 'r his kids up from machete wounds 'r infections (gangrene was common) 'n yerself from corals 'n critters, ya got a look inta the everyday reality way out here. There were others, a coffee farmer 'n a wood craftsman, doin' the same, sendin' their kids through University, extendin' a hand t a stranger 'n tryin' 'n wantin' t know another way of lookin' at things. Insects, scorpions, 'n spiders were everywhere, so that's where ya looked, though most wound up in yer tent one time 'r another. Enough things got ya t make life interestin'; what with all those probosci, stingers, 'n vile, acrid juices, the insects was right up there with the plants' hooks, claws, spines, stingin' fuzz, irritant oils 'n resins, not t mention all those floatin' medusae, coral polyps, 'r polychaete worms loaded with millions of macroscopic needles that were all now givin' ya a new meanin' t rash. Had it not been fer an idea 'n experiment ya did on yerself, coagulatin' toxic proteins 'n inactivatin' histamines with hot, near boilin' water, applied by quick dabs on the irritated parts, you'da suffered fer sure. Instant relief fer all day 'r night. Got the government t approve funds fer a marine institute, but the biology department professors ripped 'em off before the leaks were stopped. Saw one of the guys later tryin' desperately t beg 'r borrow (stealin' was now out) t salvage 'r maintain whatever he could of his crumblin' empire. The damndest excuses! Anyway, this was in
the early Seventies when the oceans would ferever be filled with fish swimmin' in crystal clear (not possibly t become polluted) waters. Government assurances. The education department at the University tried desperately t get ya t come on board 'n chuck the Ph.D. they'd got stuck with. "Absolutamente inutil!" The guy couldn't communicate with reality. A babblin' fool, quotin' decades old statistics in lands far away that meant nothin' t anybody anyplace. These guys here wanted ideas that worked. The people had t learn skills, think, create, 'n apply themselves t their own future. We'd get goin', now 'n again when you'd drop by, 'n it was jumpin' up 'n down time. More enthusiasm 'n positive outlook in that department than you'd seen anyplace. They wanted you to develop rapid learning, hands on labs for the National Public Education System for the whole country. Maybe some other time. There was another Peace Corps volunteer runnin' around here doin' a bit of reshufflin' herself. In her Seventies 'n loaded with salt. The English department's prim, elitist, non-functionin', status-seekin' female socialites got their balloons burst fast. They tried bein' indignant when she discovered what they were up t. Their English was on a very low level, but what they were doin' was even lower. They had, in a word, excluded all the local, hard workin', common folk from neighborin' pueblos from receivin' the education they wanted. Elitists pure, not wantin' t taint their images seen dealin' with commoners, "Dios mio! The clothes they wear!
Some do not even wear shoes. Horrors! Can you imagine?" Well, the University was created fer these "commoners", but if these middle-aged elitists were t have any say, which they did, society was definitely not gonna hafta suffer the indignancies of their uncouth presence. The old salt, bein' of no small repute herself in this field --hard t imagine her writin' kids' books though, ones that'd get through the censors anyway -sure set these airheads back. These petty flimflammers, as it turned out, unbeknownst t the University, had scheduled their classes usin' local bus time tables t insure that none of these peasants from outlyin' pueblos could possibly make classes on time 'r get home again t work the next day. The poor folk even tried group-rentin' taxis, but the class time schedules would magically change so it was not even possible fer a speedin' taxi t get there on time, "Sorry, class started two minutes ago," turnin' 'em all back. The fare fer a taxi was abhorrent, but they wanted t learn. Enter the salty old Gringa.
"Unheard of to change the whole schedule for the entire University to merely accommodate a few illiterate campesinos who could not possibly know what to do with any education, if they were even capable of learning. Unheard of! Impossible! Communist propoganda! The very idea! Seditious! (Their English was so poor that most of this was spoken in Spanish.) One time through this balderdash was all the patience she had; not gonna get herself caught in the same trap as prior, younger
volunteers, gettin' lost in shufflin', rewritin', 'n frustration. Nope, she had these low-lifes pegged in a flash. The old Gringa merely removed the English department from the University 'n put it in her home. Up till now the English department had been gettin' paid but had not had t teach -- a few selects, maybe. New class schedules were made with the help of each outlyin' pueblo, accordin' t the times when they could come, learn, 'n go home again. She'd buy whole bags of rice 'n beans, 'n a few locals'd cook up a meal fer the visitin' campesinos, as they'd all miss supper comin' t class. An average class would run around sixty. "Excellent students, of the highest order," she exclaimed t the Padre, who agreed with her. He knew his people well 'n was now gettin' t know a few of the degenerates that were doin' his country no good by eliminatin' education from the reach of its people. With no students 'n no department, they had no jobs, as the few students they did have now attended classes in the home of the Gringa. A few terms of this 'n applicants swelled. They all loved, "La Gringa vieja con huevos." They knew quality 'n spirit 'n what they wanted! When teachers were found t accommodate the wishes of all those who desperately wanted t learn English, classes once again resumed at the University, but with a whole new philosophy 'n set of schedules.
There was a depressin' side in all this beauty 'n diversity. The local folks was gettin' sold down the river, not only by a few gringos, from all over the world, but by their own government as well. It was all round ya. A foreigner would buy some property dirt cheap, often takin' advantage of 'n cheatin' the locals. Stories of tradin' transistor radios fer property were not unfounded. They'd cut the trees, overgraze with cattle fer a few years till the land was exhausted 'n worthless, sell the cattle, 'n make a big profit, settin' the pattern goin'. Then there were the chemicals. The States 'n Europe would prohibit the use of dangerous chemicals, 'n the manufacturers would quickly unload 'em down here on the unsuspectin', n keep on producing em in new factories in third world countries. Chemical deaths among poor campesinos was as high as it was sad 'n, likewise, devastatin' t the environment, with pesticides 'n herbicides takin' their toll on creatures 'n plant life, while, at the same time by rapid evolution for survival, creatin highly resistant strains of everything -- from algaes, nematodes t E. coli. The way it was goin', it looked like the rivers of the earth were bein' turned inta a giant intestinal tract of a pig, oozin' out new mutant forms of plants, bacteria, 'n viruses of potential plague proportions. Quite similar t the production system of the public school system 'n Juvie. There didn't appear t be any safe use of the stuff; but, by far, the worst offender, destroyer, 'n exploiter of all was the banana company.
In yer wanderin' around the country, takin' water samples, biomass counts, animal populations, plant densities, 'n observin human social effects on the environment, you'd come across: whole estuaries decimated of near all aquatic life; links of chains no longer in existence; valuable tropical forests denuded of all life -birds, monkeys, insects, reptiles -- 'n value against erosion 'n water table depletion (should have seen those drainage ditches). The chemical saturation was phenomenal, affectin' humans as well (poor humans) with the worst respiratory problems you'd seen 'r heard of anywhere 'n other problems as well amongst the workers. Dont think there were too many mothers pushin chemicals, so they could stand by helplessly n watch their babies die. This was only gonna be the beginnin' of problems up the road a ways. If the country thought it had unemployment problems, wait till it got stuck with all them kids them workers were havin'. Not t mention the displacement of all those Indian tribes. And, again, amongst a lot of things, bananas ain't ferever; no mono crop is. To make it worse, the company had permanently destroyed beautiful, absolutely necessary t our existence on earth, tropical rain forests. No more diversity -- EVER! Jus' two crops: bananas, which would eventually peter out 'r get wiped out by some fungus; 'n babies, lots of babies, too many babies that would only create more babies (wanna know where Watts came from? Used t be a banana plantation) -- both t insure that no forest would
'r could ever make an attempt t produce oxygen, guard water tables, stop erosion, 'n create its plant n' animal diversity that the world may desperately need one day fer survival. All fer bananas -- 'n they weren't even that good, as bananas go. This should never have been permitted t happen: To plan t willfully take advantage, deceive, 'n conjure up social welfare 'n developmental legalese, all t overthrow resistin democracies n install thug n hoodlum governments t exploit 'n premeditatively destroy a country's chances of fulfillin' long term stability 'n wise management of its resources. Back here in the Seventies, they're sure foolin' lots of people. Hope you folks up there in the future ain't so gullible t swaller all that baloney they're passin' out back here. Jus' when the local government, along with numerous international agencies, had gotten farmers producin' crops 'n inta self-sufficiency, along came a horde of scavengers, doin' their worst 'n upsettin' the whole effort. Religious fundamentalist fanatics came sneakin' in through the sewers from the States, a-draggin' their tents, 'n found lots of poor folks jus' gettin' a foothold on feedin' their families with U.S. help 'n technology. These buzzards set up their tents 'n commenced condemnin' 'n evilin' 'n gettin' them poor trustin' folk, who just got helped by the States, feelin' terrible at how evil 'n bad they were but could be made OK 'n square things up with the Lord by sellin' everything that they had 'n givin' it t the Lord. So that's what they did, only givin' all
the proceeds from their property, farms 'n all, t these bona fide ambassadors of the Lord, who quickly split with it all back t the States. The victims: the illiterate poor who couldn't read 'n write; those havin' suffered malnutrition as children 'n often remained as such; old folk with a little property 'r somethin' laid aside against destitution; 'n the infirm. Cleaned 'em all out, leavin' certain catastrophic hardships 'n even resultin' deaths in their wake. Puts one in mind of an experiment with mice, some time back, of a percentage of the populace that preys upon the weak 'n defenseless. The government banned the major scoundrels from comin' back, but the lesser parasites sneak in now 'n again. Had a chance t bump inta some of the casualties, simple 'n trustin' but good folk. One family got sucked inta this bill of goods fer other reasons, 'n it almost cost 'em dearly. The father, a sleeze-bag slimeball, got right inta the shoutin' 'n jumpin' around, hopin' t improve his community standin's. One of his teenage sons got in a fight in a bar 'n cut his knuckles on the other guy's teeth -- bad! Infection spread rapidly, but the father wouldn't permit a visit t the hospital, even over the pleadin's of his wife. He was willin' t do his Jesus-freak trip as long as it wasn't him a-hurtin' (been recently t the hospital hisself). "No doctors!" God's judgement 'n all, "The evil of the world!" Ya happened by a few days after the incident 'n glancin down, followin' yer nose, ya got a glimpse/whiff of the hand. Knowin' whatcha was up against, "Hey, Ma, looks like yer gonna lose one," matter of factly, 'n quickly changin' the subject t somethin' else. She
stood there tremblin'. After a couple years, they'd figured it out that it was worth their while t pay heed t the Gringo. The father blurted out, like he did when he still went out 'n got drunk, "Don't worry, the Lord will take care of it." You replied, "Might do it at that," as he passed a puke-evokin', toothy smile around. Continuin' right along, "Course, he's gonna hafta get his act together real soon," lookin' down at yer watchless wrist, "Give him till tomorrow mornin'." You could see the inflammation spreadin', hand t elbow, like a huge bologna roll, 'n puss oozin' outta cracks between stubby, hardly recognizable, discolored fingers. Casually 'n absent-mindedly, ya reached over 'n gently pressed his biceps under his armpit, at the same time while talkin'. The kid shrieked 'n crumbled t his knees, grittin' his teeth 'n wailin'. Ya figured a little dramatics would fit in nicely; 'sides he was gonna hafta do his part if he's gonna come outta this alive. The kid was really pretty good; it was the o1' man that needed the gangrene. The wife knew whatcha were thinkin'. If it woulda been the o1' man, you'da left him t his god! But, the kid was good. Lookin' back at yer watchless wrist, "He best hurry, may not have that long. But, not t worry, only a kid. What's one, more 'r less? Right, kid?" You'd set these kids in their place a time 'r two, especially the time they drank all the wine you'd made fer their elderly aunt, t take a glass whenever the parasite 'n amoeba aches 'n pains got t her. It helped, until the teenagers got a-hold of it. They didn't want no second helpin' of Gringo, no, sir. "Course, the Lord'll fill in
come coffee pickin' time, 'r does he make house calls?" Waitin' right along fer her t come unglued 'n grab her balls, 'r him by his, 'n step out, hearth 'n home-wise. Lookin' down, "Such a good kid. Right, kid?" He looked up cringin', "Si, si. Buen hombre! Soy muy buen hombre." Lookin' down at him 'n shakin' yer head, "Sorry about that! Adios, kid!" It was ice. Pure ice, slicing swiftly 'n unquestioning, definitely unquestioning. "Get the Jeep!" their mother said. Not loud 'r shoutin', jus' pure ice. Only once! The jig was up. If he even thought of thinkin', he knew she'd tear inta him, 'n he'd be lucky t be even able t walk down that road, carryin' his pink slip after she got done with him, then 'r in his sleep. Half way there in the o1' jeep that the families shared, he almost started t mumble somethin', but she jus' looked at him. In the hospital he tried t butt in 'n tell the nurse, expectin' her t eat that smile up like all the other cheap floozies he ran around with, that it was a wound from the coffee field. Ya motioned over t Ma, 'n she shook her head, "In here you tell the truth." After you'd explained the exact incident 'n present condition, we waited a few minutes, 'n then ya escorted him inta the doctor's examinin' room, passin' him a few brief details. The doctor thanked ya, "Gracias seor. It is good that you got him here in time!" They gave him massive injections of penicillin, after extractin' a bowl of pus outta his hand, along with givin' specific instructions that if it didn't get better rapidly, before midnight, t return t try other antibiotics.
When they got home, she sent her husband inta the bedroom t stay while she watched the inflammation. Ya stopped by later that night t say howdy 'n take a looksee. The lecher was still in his room. The penicillin was workin' nicely. On departin', ya glanced back over her way, "What took ya so long?" She cut loose laughin' 'n laughin'. She was feelin' pretty good; had her kid back, 'n he'd be all right, 'n the slime was put back where he belonged, under a rock. Other foreigner loonies trickled down here also. One Gringo hired some local Indians, equipped 'em with guns, 'n set up a small dynasty in the jungle, chasin' folks about. Ya sprinkled a few words in the right places n he was out. Another bought a small island, barbed wired it, 'n prohibited anybody on his island, killin all the wildlife n even chased n killed off all the land crabs, but ya got him on protected species Sally Lightfootsn shut him down . And the list goes on . Another, fer what it's worth: Near all scams 'n rip-offs of public resources -from illegal harvestin' of protected fish t cuttin' trees on National Park land -- had public officials at the roots of the matter, who entered public office fer no other purpose than t function above the law. Soon t be a worldwide maxim. Sharks, ya say? Kept ya on yer toes, they did, especially in a thirteen foot inflatable canoe. If ya haven't seen the bioluminescence of tropical waters, activated by disturbin' tiny critters at night, loaded with the phosphorescent bacteria that causes it,
yer missin' a treat. Waves can be seen brilliant at night, along with the strange light bulb forms of fish, sharks, 'n rays cruisin' in the depths. The frenzy of a school of feedin' fish can be seen fer miles by all, quickly attractin' larger predators t the feed. A canoe paddle, likewise, at night creates big swirls of bioluminescence activated creatures like spirally, whirlpool bulbs. Forgettin' this phenomenon 'n canoein' at night can be most interestin', as chunks of yer paddle are voraciously ripped out by things with lots of great big teeth, 'r ya hear the bow of yer boat gettin' crunched 'n chunked, likewise, attracted by the bioluminescent wake. Fine if yer in a steel boat, though wood ain't too bad, but an inflatable? Once fishin' a bit late with another biologist, we got caught in a melee of a pack of frenzied, hungry sharks, zippin' in 'n out tryin' t gobble up the brilliant paddle swirls. Havin' light reflectin' aluminum paddles didn't help much, crunch, chunk, 'n jerkwise. Couldn't do anything but drift. Tide was comin' in so the driftin' was jus' up inta the gulf 'n not out t sea. This went on fer an hour 'r so, with no calm below, every time we chanced a few strokes. So, with nothin' else t do, ya rested yer head on the inflated side tube 'n relaxed -- if that's a good word t use --glancin' down at the action below. Then somethin' caught yer attention, the tiniest of beepy shrills someplace below. On a hunch ya pressed yer ear t the sound-magnifyin', inflated tube 'n there it was, 'n then they came, over a half-dozen by count, big suckers, right inta that pack of
sharks. Them sharks split so fast ya could hardly see anythin' but the luminescent trail they left. The rescuers were the local, resident Dolphins that cruised the gulf. We'd wound up quite a ways up the gulf 'n decided t head straight t land 'n hoof it back. Most times these big fellas were jus' lookin' fer fun -- fun with the long, soft, puffy, yellow, bouncy, floatin' thing. Never did any harm, save after a while yer buns got tender some. Couple times before, alone in the evenin', keepin' close t the shoreline in the shallows ready t grab any land when the sharks came, you'd feel a bump, only t look over 'n find the dolphins cruisin' right next t ya, nudgin' yer inflatable canoe t the shore. Good folks. In this next incident, yer aluminum paddle 'bout sold ya down the river 'n near ended all this recordin' stuff. You'd been usin' yer aluminum paddle fer a rudder, tryin' a sail you'd rigged up fer yer inflatable, when ya caught sight of a huge dorsal fin of a shark, off t starboard, too late. Fast is fast, but it still amazed ya "how fast" sharks can travel, especially in this case. It was a hundred meters, 'n zip, he was lookin' fer that large shiny fish that had suddenly disappeared, circlin'. This time it was different. This was the biggest carnivore you'd ever encountered. He was as long as yer boat, 'n it appeared he wasn't about t leave till he got his snacks. Throwin' him a five pound pargo you'd kept woulda solved nothin'. He wasn't a blue, grey, 'r tiger -- too big fer these local species. He wouldn't leave, 'n ya were in
deep waters way out in the middle of the gulf, with nothin' that resembled land fer a good kilometer. Ya scrunched way down in yer canoe, outta sight 'n eye contact -- that last seemed t be very important -- 'n, inch by inch, ya gathered the cord attached t yer bamboo boom. Any fast action 'r movement seemed like it woulda triggered somethin'. Slowly, slowly, t catch any breeze goin' anywhere. As things happen that way, the only breeze was headin' up inta the gulf 'n not towards any land, though there was a tiny basalt outcrop island four kilometers way up there -- big deal. While ya was ponderin' this pickle, he slowly sank 'n disappeared. In yer mind, ya knew he was still there a half-hour later, as ya drifted up inta the gulf. No fast anything! Sure enough, he'd slowly, unnoticed, come up directly under ya 'n was now matchin' yer speed exactly, a meter down, near completely hid, save fer his sides ya could see on either side of the boat. Wheeeee! This guy was definitely different. Up t no good fer sure, he was, ya could count on that. In tryin' t figure out what he was up t, a couple things gave ya a startlin' chill: Shallow water meant attackin' water -- not only 'cause predators chased prey inta shallows, but, in this case, somethin' would be triggered, automatically, like a cocked pistol aimin' at its prey, jus' waitin' fer the right moment, which brought up the next realization. This huge shark had been locked on you, its prey, fer well over an hour now, which meant that, in its primitive mind, somethin' had been set 'n would stay set
until triggered off. This long term fixation, 'r lockin' onta prey, meant that you also hadda start thinkin' long term 'n go from ponderin' t plottin' if ya was gonna defuse that triggerin' mechanism before it went off. First thing, right off, clearly understood, no shallow beaches fer this boat, -- no way, no, sir, no, ma'am! Things might be lookin' bleak, but as long as they weren't lookin' shallow, a guy could live with that. A half hour later, he was still there but, hopefully, unsuspectin' 'n unnoticin' that you'd been able t tack a few degrees 'n slightly alter yer course more in line as t whatcha had up yer sleeve. "We shall see what things lurk in that primitive mind of yers. Maybe you've never been outwit? Because yer so enormous, big guy, you think we all fear? Pee our pants maybe, but not before we get a shot off with the o1' gray matter." Local fishermen, that feared everything, would panic, fallin' inta the shallows trap, undoubtedly, as they had before. You was gettin' the feelin' that this wasn't no first time, premiere performance here. You were bankin' that this brute didn't really know what he was a-doin' 'n all this persistence 'n patience stuff were merely part of an unthinkin', genetic pattern, like operatin' on automatic pilot. Let's hope he didn't know that. Nor would he be aware of another automatic triggerin' device set t go off when predetermined conditions were met. A little somethin' else let's hope he didn't know. 'Cause disconnectin' the triggerin' mechanism, that had evolved t super efficiency, seemed worth a shot.
"OK Brute!" That was his new name now; seemed more in line with his new image. "Brute? Brute? Here, Brute! Here, Brute! Thatta boy, Brute! Nice, Brute! Nice, Brute! Anyway, Brute, you play the one game ya know, hopefully the only game in town, 'n we will see! Jeeeze, Brute, will ya listen up? Ya gotta cut that stare out, imagewise, ya know. Yer comin' off like some kinda retard." What you'd pulled off a week ago on the tiger wouldn't work here. Whatcha now had stirred up was hot-off-the-press stuff, which disproved another adage about not bein' able t do two things at once, as here ya were, both thinkin' 'n peein' yer pants at the same time. Cripes, it'd been over two hours with him down there. "You jus' hang in there, Brute. Have a little more patience. Another half a kilometer 'n somethin's gonna click off. A real treat comin' up, brute. That trance you've been in? Snap ya right outta it. Hey, what are friends for? Yes, sir, disconnect that nasty old mechanism. Still down there, Brute? Thatta boy, Brute. Soon! Oh, 'n sorry 'bout that, ya know, 'bout you takin' the wrong evolutionary path. No hard feelin's? T kill is one! T think is another! Even now, a bit of confusion is settin' in, not real clear, kinda cloudy, right, Brute? You can be confused, can't you, Brute? Oh, forgot! Sorry. Well, looks like this is where we part, Brute, though it appears it really happened millions of years ago." Still in deep waters, a hundred meters from shore, "So long big guy! No gringo pie this time," and let out a sigh fer all sighs, "Wheeeeeeew!!" and picked up yer paddle, veerin' sharply t port 'n
then straight in. On either side as ya paddled, it was three cloudy meters deep, but immediately under yer boat, only a few inches. Curious? The crystal clear waters of the gulf's center channel would slowly give way, almost unnoticeably, t increasingly murkier water, the closer ya got t the sediment laden waters of a small river way up the gulf, where you'd studied anadromous fish migrations, 'n it'd rained last night. Before Brute would even have realized thatcha were no longer there, you'd be gone, leavin' him t bump inta a long, volcanic, extrusive dike that extended a couple hundred meters out inta the gulf, before he'd even know it was there. This breakin' his spell, 'r trance, 'n thereby disconnectin' his triggerin' mechanism. Brute must now rethink, which wasn't likely possible, nor was there any prey t see t reset 'r relock on his killin' mechanism. If Brute could search, could he reason right 'r left 'r work a maze, as there was another dike, parallel 'n twenty meters next t this one, in very murky waters? Hey, why kid ourselves? We all know Brute, trapped in that evolutionary mess, fer millions of years, 'n still can't find his way out. If by chance he wasn't entirely disconnected 'n managed t find ya again, he would only be left t attack the rock wall thatcha were skimmin' across in only an inch 'r two of water by then. Fer you, learnin' the lay of the land, right off, was o1' hat, insurance, a kinda learned habit. A week later ya ran inta the o1' gang of dolphins, "Hey! Where were you guys?"
What had happened a week prior t this last encounter had been the attraction of a good three meter, resident Tiger shark, t the blood 'n juices of a twenty pound jural you'd put in a tide pool while ya climbed around t the other side of the small island. On returnin' an hour later, the tide pool had been leakin' a steady flow of these fish juices 'n blood inta the ocean. Needless t say, this resident Tiger was in a frenzy, back 'n forth. The catch was ya hadda get offa that island, in the middle of the mouth of the huge gulf, fast. Shortly the whole gulf would erupt, as it started emptyin' blue water waves three t four feet that'd toss a boat around like a cork, near helpless, let alone thinkin' of goin' against it eight kilometers. But, then again, this was not the time t set out in an inflatable, with a hungry shark snappin' at everything that hit the water; but, again, ya couldn't wait till the tide was totally out, hopin' he'd get discouraged in three 'r four hours 'cause it'd be dark. Eight kilometers in the dark, no way! After logical reasonin' had failed -- rocks on his head -- an idea zipped by. Why not? "Hey shark! Yeh! We're talkin' t you out there. Have ya ever been attacked? Really attacked?" Quickly grabbin' yer other rod --a twelve foot, stiff surf rod ya used on biggies -- 'n tyin' a couple yards of heavy, hundred 'n fifty pound test steel leader t the forty pound mono line, ya continued right along, "Ladies 'n gentlemen. In this corner we have the heavy weight defender 'n title holder, not really Mr. Nice Guy, Joe Tiger Teeth. Measurin' in at three meters 'n weighin' two 'r three hundred pounds, more
'r less, 'n it ain't all bad breath neither. And, in this corner," quickly clippin' on a large plastic minnow plug, "we have the contender, Mighty Minnow, measurin' in at seven inches 'n weighin' an ounce --lean, baby, lean. OK guys, are ya ready?" Because of racin' t beat the tide, the dialogin's cut short some. Ya figured on tossin' yer champion inta the ring a few feet out, right in front of ya, with as big a splat as an ounce could make, which ya jus' did. 01d Tiger Breath would see it, which he jus' did, 'n would come a-streakin' t savagely attack yer champion, which he jus' did. Next ya would have the bail on yer reel shut 'n on maximum drag, no give at all, which ya did. Then you'd wait a second after the attack, which ya have, 'n then you'd do all in yer power with that stiff rod, heavy line, steel leader, 'n those two heavy salt water treble hooks t jerk his head outta the water as far as possible, which ya jus' did. Jeeeze, that son-of-a-bitch is big! Lookit those teeth! This ya figured would take him totally by surprise. Little minnows don't do things like that. Not knowin' what t do, he'd try t escape 'n you'd let him, hopefully partin' yer line on sharp coral 'r rocks way out there someplace. He took off, 'n smoke came from yer reel. That guy was powerful 'n didn't slow down at all, givin' him a stiff jerk 'r two t keep him mindful of his real enemy in his mouth, stingin' 'n jabbin'. He parted the line way out there someplace, 'n you was in yer inflatable 'n off that island in a flash, case he had returnin' thoughts. With all his layered teeth, he'd have that minnow plug spit out in a while, but hopefully he/she
would wander around out there awhile, confused, dumbfounded, 'n in a stupor as t what had happened. The Tiger would return though, as the island was its territory. You'd watched it cruisin' n disappearin' inta the depths before. Right now it'd be best t put yer back inta them paddle strokes 'n make hay while the sun was still shinin' fer another hour. This next incident involved a legend of sorts. Yer campesino friend (remember warm Brahma milk?) had mentioned huge Hammerheads, "pez martillo", that once prowled these waters, "Dos mil libras!" "Una tonada?" "S." No use includin' "de veras", 'cause whatever he said was "de veras". He couldn't stretch the truth a scale 'r even a millimeter; it wasn't in him. And he called himself a fisherman, Cripes! What's this world comin' to? Ahhhh hah! "Are they still out there? Do they still exist?" He replied, "Es posible," 'n that was good enough fer you. A maybe. On t another "locura". You'd been workin' on shark trails 'n habits lately, so ya jus' ran this behemoth through a few of yer statistics. Guy'll need a float, so ya rolled a one meter by five meter dried out log down t the beach. Guy'll need a sinker, so a forty pound boulder was rolled down next t the log. Guy'll need a leader, so enough half-inch chain was plopped down t wrap around the boulder 'n leave a foot t attach t the bait, so he wouldn't swaller it 'n could be released 'r worked out naturally. Guy'll need a line from sinker t float, so a hundred feet of couple thousand pound test nylon rope was plopped between
the two. Guy'll need a hook, so a huge, foot long shark hook was attached t the leader. Guy'll need some bait, so a ten pound pargo was sewn onta the hook with stainless steel wire. Guy'll need a lotta work draggin' all this junk out there, not t mention a guy'll have t be crazy t even think about goin' after such a monster. Ya put it exactly where ya figured he'd be a-prowlin', in a small cove fifty meters out 'n three meters deep, leavin' plenty extra rope t compensate fer tidal fluctuation, 'n paddled back t yer tent on the beach as it was gettin' towards sundown. Next mornin', fer some reason, in yer haste t catch the outgoin' tide as it passed yer favorite, tiny basalt outcrop three hundred meters out, ya almost got t the tiny island when it struck ya, "Where was the log?" Hmmmmm! Mechanically ya picked up yer inflatable in the shallows 'n put it on a higher ledge. You'd hadda swim a half kilometer fer it once, through this known shark trail, when the wind jerked the boat loose. Once upon a six foot high outcroppin', ya started workin' a lure 'n absently daydreamin' as t the whereabouts of that log, comin' up with lots of answers, all fulla holes 'n nonsense. Still absorbed in contemplation when, "Oh, there's the log, zippin' along a couple meters under the surface." Ya almost started t resume yer daydreamin' again when, "What? Zippin along! Immediate second take. Zippin' fer sure. Quick calculation time here = WOW fer potential displacement. Tons! Best t consider all
facets before gettin' inta hastiness things. Lots of facets! Many, many, many, many facets. But all seemed t point towards one general direction -- the shore; how the hell was ya gonna get offa this island 'n back t good o1' Mother Earth with that guy cruisin' around down there, back 'n forth? More'n likely pissed. Tide'll be flat in a couple hours. Be pretty shallow most parts around here. Least ya could see him comin'. A log that size leaves some kinda wake, though, from the looks of things, don't think it'd slow him down much. Regainin' yer calm somewhat on the idea of waitin', "Yes, Yes, very sensible that waitin' angle." Ya even dared t think dumb thoughts. Well, the campesino's got four 'r five good ponies 'n some stout rope, but comin' back t reality, who in his right mind is gonna get close enough t attach the outfit t that log, monster, that'd more'n likely pull the whole lot of 'em inta the drink without a second thought? Not good t think thoughts like this! Better t think wait. Escape! The water went down 'n whatever it was had wandered off with the tide, at least out of sight. But, jus' t make sure, ya calculated the shortest, shallowest, rockstrewn, 'n obstacle-laden course, at the most advantageous time possible t make yer record run of the o1' 99, with contingencies 'n jus'-in-cases at the ready. Later that night, in the candlelight, round some critter soup, ya mentioned t the campesino, "Ya know o1' timer, folks in this here day 'n age jus' don't put enough store in things handed down, stories, legends, 'n such like, 'specially bout monstrous things
out there that'll make believers outta any dumb gringo with loco ideas. Good soup." You'd keyed it out in the dark by its bone structure, iguana, "pollo de la rama," chicken of the limb. This next ocean related incident is in reference t the earlier mention of the market gettin' glutted 'n flooded with chemicals, pesticides, aldrin, dioxinorganic phosphatestype goodies, resultin' from restrictions imposed upon these toxic chemicals in the States 'n Europe, who, therefore, rapidly unloaded 'n dumped stocks down here. The same thing happened when cigarette sales dropped a bit in the States from cancer scares. Campesinos, many of which were unable t read their own native language, Spanish, let alone English, German, 'r whatever, were mixin' this stuff with their hands 'n dyin': puttin' the stuff on their crops 'n dyin'; ingestin' the stuff when it got inta their water system 'n dyin'. Seems dyin' was the thing they were a-doin' the most of lately. 'Bout wound up a statistic yerself, sittin' on a chemical saturated beach log. Pheeeeew! Pants came off 'n inta the ocean ya went, salivatin' 'n eyes dilatin', scrubbin' icy cold skin on yer butt 'n legs with sand. Took a few days t get shook of that mess. Anyway, 'sides folks cashin' in, a whole estuary system up the gulf bit the dust. Everything -- fish, amphipods, birds, monkeys, you name it. If it once moved, it didn't anymore. Real final like. The far reachin' effects of this glut of chemicals was whatcha were up t now. The island bird sanctuaries had been hit, as a member of the food chain, zooplankton on up. How hard, far, 'n exactly what species, needed t be looked inta, as
ya worked yer way out t the mouth of the gulf, island by island, followin' the tide out t the big reef, 'n then catchin' it back in a half dozen hours. Wasn't lookin' too good: mollusks, coral polyps, shore crabs, 'n barnacle-wise. The chemicals had done somethin' t the adhesive that barnacles used t stick their heads t rocks. The barnacles themselves had not only been destroyed, but had become somewhat crumbly, so care hadda be taken when walkin' round on the higher basalt shelves within the daily tidal movement zone. As careful as ya were, ya jus' weren't careful enough 'r realized the extent of the damage. The account that follows is what happened after a whole foot section of barnacles jus' crumbled 'n slid away as ya stepped on it, sendin' ya out over the ledge 'n below, upside down, landin' on yer head, back 'n legs all at the same time on the sharp corals 'n oyster shell covered basalt 'n yerself out like a rock. How long? Well, the tide had dropped some more 'n was pickin' up at a good clip when ya came to. "Awwwwhhh! Blood...pain...'n numb. Slipped...fell. The ledge...dead barnacles. Crabs feedin' all over. Gotta... get...up some...augghh! Gotta see...ooooohhh! Head...diz ....back...arm...blood. Leg...red...white...cuts...pieces danglin'. Crabs feedin'...pieces...yer's. Awwwhhh! Little shits don't waste time. Quiet all over. Sun...sky...water over ya. Salty. Salty!! Gotta...get...out...fast...hurry. He'll be there! His island. He waits...second reef. Waves...blood...he knows. His turn. Weak...all over. Grab big coral chunk. Dizzy...vomit...maybe. Up...up...up...got it. Pull...pull...out we come.
Pheeeew! Leg cut up pretty bad. All red now, no waves. A little water from this pool. There we go. Get that chunk of broken coral outta there. Uuuuuuughh! Got it. Aaaahhh! Ain't you a sight! White bones with pulsin' red streams. Ankle, tibia 'n fibula showin'. Nothin' broken. Jus' pain 'n that's not bad, nothin' new. You crabs are quick t the feast. You like the Gringo? Well, be content with yer bits 'n pieces. It's well ya woke up when ya did. E1 Tiburn grande he does not like the Gringo. The Gringo has fooled him. He remembers...long...well. Never rests...quick t strike... anything. E1 Gato del Mar. Tiger suits him well." You were lucky this time. The coral 'n razor sharp oysters didn't sever the tibial 'r metatarsal arteries. A few millimeters more 'n, ahhhh, enough of this. Ya gotta get offa this island 'n back t land, five kilometers of open ocean up inta the big gulf. The tide has already erupted inta its high-waved, churnin' frenzy, but with speed maybe ya could make it t the outer gulf reef before bein' swept out t sea. The tide must escape twice daily from its land prison. It hates, therefore it escapes. A dozen hours without freedom is too much. You do not want t get caught in its hatred. You'd fought it once fer an hour 'n won, but all that you were was in that hour, a fart in the winds 'n nothin' more. The natives fear all: sun, ocean, what swims in the deep, the jungles, its creatures, the waters, its fevers. They will kill you if you do not fear. Hah! The sun wishes t fry ya again. The island wishes t grind ya inta bits, 'n the ocean wishes t sweep those bits inta the depths of stomachs that know no fill. The pain is heavy in yer
back, sharp in yer side, hot in yer arm, 'n bitin' in yer leg, but before the day is over, the fear must wait another day. Careful not t drip 'r squirt too much blood around, gotta get inta the boat 'n keep it clean of blood. Tie 'n bind things up first; clamp 'em down good 'n make a quick hop in, 'n paddle like hell t keep from bein swept out t sea. Get t the big reef; take its eddy t the point 'n use the reverse currents of smaller bays t get back up the gulf. Maybe the hot sun will sear the gashes dry. Bits 'n pieces of coral stickin' in all over ya. A couple hours later you were busy, in yer tent, pryin' out pieces of coral 'n shell, stickin' in yer bone, with yer fishin' knife, 'n cuttin' away flesh that didn't look like it'd serve much function. Some light fishin' line 'n a small hook served t stitch things up all in one general area. Not bad! Goop it down with Bacitracin 'n wait till the throbbin' starts. Numb is always first, then the stabbin' pains. Got back t civilization 'n the Peace Corps doctor late the next day, "Not bad stitching. Looks pretty good." It smarted some fer a while, but eventually quieted down 'n took its place with the rest of yer mementos. A young, visitin' biologist from the States found that snappin' teeth at danglin' things, playin' in the "cute" bioluminescent water at night, 'n sharp spines from rays, slicin' tennis shoe tips right off, improved her powers of observation immensely. Jus' threw that in fer the heck of it. Now on t seein' whatcha could do t get some
communication goin' between the University 'n the good folks out here t fulfill the Padres wishes. .
Sounded easy, but when ya hadda translate between the high Castillian Spanish speakin' University biologists 'n the common coarseness of the locals, it became interestin', even more so when the aloof, cultured biologists absolutely refused t share a campesino's meager fare 'n lodgin'. Somethin' t think about, needin' a gringo t act as interpreter between two Spaniards from the same country. Kept draggin' 'em out until ya found some that could communicate, eat the food, 'n sleep in what was provided. Found a particularly sharp one that had his head screwed on right 'n made him new head of the biology department. A new breed. The Padre was likin' this more 'n more -- a university that served the needs of the people, poor included. The country, likewise, had some good biologists in positions t halt the Stateside scientific supply houses from comin' down here, in semis loaded with fifty gallon drums of formaldehyde, t vacuum the intertidal zone 'n, also, t halt the export of tropical birds. Yer own personal studies of over twenty-five parrots, various sizes 'n ages, all in different states of repair 'n rehabilitation, had revealed that one particular species, Amazona ochracephelis, needed much more lookin' inta before writin' 'em all off as jus' mimickers. Interestin' things came up: sentence formation, regroupin' words t attain desired ends,'n a desire t "play". When rehabilitated 'n set free, if havin' been cared fer
in a free state while injured, they maintained contact with the specific humans, yerself in this case. They would stay close by 'n visit, if treated decently 'n respectfully, no cage bein' needed. Had a couple characters though. One would chase neighborin', nestin' hens away 'n sit on their eggs, cluckin' 'n at times would strut 'n crow like a rooster. A close friend, nine kilometers away, notified ya that two of yer rehabilitated parrots, both of different genus 'n species, were now livin' together in an old parrot nest hole in a deserted termite structure. Others would pay ya visits, while walkin' in different pueblos, some quite distant, appearin' out of nowhere t land on yer shoulder, much t the astonishment of locals, stick their heads inta yer top shirt pocket, pluck out a peanut, 'n off they'd fly. Somethin' t think about. One Peruvian professor of education, a sharp cookie, was commentin' once, as you'd noticed the diet change, "When the indians learned the White man's language, they died of the White man's disease." This had been in reference t the change from the local staple of a coarse, whole-grain type of bread, "pan crudo" 'r "pan negro", that kept the plumbin' open, t the white bread that eventually, after a number of years, was responsible fer the rapid, high rise of colon cancer amongst them. They still wouldn't go back though. Got somethin' similar t "pan crudo" in a small shop. Excellent flavor. Great fer the plumbin', likewise. Wanderin' around in all these jungles, forests 'n swimmin' rivers 'n swamps, a fella's bound t get stung, bit, 'n chomped upon by some of its residents. You'd already
picked up a fever 'r two that recurred with such regularity, ya got t callin' 'em yer "monthlies" 'n "jungle funnies". Fevers 'n chills. Usually feel 'em comin' on. Had yer own remedy -- worked! Wouldn't recommend it, though it sure as hell beat anything on TV. Wow!! More of that in a while, up the road a piece, once we're well inta an appropriate settin'. (See -- 'n you thought there wasn't any thought 'r organization used in this catastrophic blunder at recordin' nothin' but worthless prattle.) You were about as far away from civilization in this country as a fella could get, way out in this deep jungle, bein' here fer numerous reasons, none of which was really important t anybody but yerself. There were a handful of miners workin' a few rivers fer a few grains of dust; 'n jaguars chasin' coatimundis 'n snakes loiterin' near everywhere ya looked; 'n birds 'n insects t keep a fella busy fer years. Got yer first look at water burns, from acidic volcanic waters, lookin' jus' like cigarette burns. The miners combated 'em, when workin' in the rivers, by rubbin' their exposed legs with "madera de canfin" t protect 'em from water contact. Grease worked too, but "canfin", kerosene, was acclaimed the best. The water slowly ate yer layers of skin off, right down t the oozin' lymphatic fluids 'n delicate nerve endin's -- painful like ya wouldn't believe, sit right down 'n couldn't go no further fer the hot, searin', pulsin' agony. Gave it a try t see what it felt like when it started: two days tinglin'; third, stingingly sensitive; fourth, on yer butt. Hadda know! Anyway, as usual, it was business first before gettin' inta research pleasure.
Usually there was somebody sufferin' from somethin' ucky out here in these places, 'n sure enough, no exceptions here, gangrene t reactions against somethin'. After makin' the rounds of folks who never went t doctors, ya settled down t seein' what made these folks tick. An interestin lot they were. A few very quiet indians; a banker who'd jus' up 'n walked outta his upper crust society world one day, leavin' it all t eke out a meager, but satisfyin', existence; 'n a few leavin' somethin' behind. The third day they had come up 'n given ya some "canfin" with directions. This is when you'd learned about it. They hadn't offered this t the other seven gringo gold seekers who'd come in over the years t cheat the indians. The indians hadn't done anything. The water had done it all. They later showed ya where they'd died, whimperin' in an excruciatin' pain they'd been so willin' t bestow on others. None ever returned outta the jungle. The indians even gave ya a claim t work. Impressed the hell outta em t see a white man who could match the best of 'em, sweat fer sweat, hour fer hour in the hot, humid jungle. Learned a few things 'bout these "illiterate savages", both of us. Their applied physics would give a modern, well-educated engineer a run fer his money. A little water, a few sticks 'n leaves 'n, whoops, there goes another rubber tree plant, 'r boulder the size of a house 'r mountain. One was right up there with Don. Interestin', huh? Way out here in the jungles. He gave ya private tours of plants 'n their unique properties fer every kind of tumor, benign 'r malignant, leukemia, kidney, liver, 'n lung ailments. These folks out here in the jungles had most all the bases covered.
There were philosophies, legends, 'n different ways of lookin' at things as long as there were any of 'em left t look at things these ways 'r trees left t work their magic. But, thankfully we won't have t deal with any of these cumbersome issues -- miraculous cures from the great variety of plants by their unique, yet undiscovered (by us anyway) properties --'cause we've been spared this needless bother of diversity; for now we can all look t the great savior of mankind, omnipotent spiritual guide 'n healer of all infirmities -- the BANANA! Anyways right now ya felt one comin' on. Cripes! What a place t get stuck with the jungle funnies, with no boilin' hot water t burn 'em outta yer system by merely raisin' yer body temperature up a bit t discourage the plasmodiums 'r sporocystic generation. First ya climbed a short coconut tree 'n got a bunch of "pipas" --green coconuts, liquid food -- 'n got a gallon of water; next ya cut a bunch of native "cuadrados" a kinda short, rectangular-shaped, squat lookin' "platano" (plantain). You out there might know 'em as "gineos". Locals use 'em as pig food, but ya could be sick 'n nauseous 'n still keep 'em down. Then ya checked t see how much dried shark meat ya had. Somethin' told ya this was gonna be a dandy. If ya couldn't burn it out, takin' an hour 'r so, ya toughed it out -- days. You'd jus' got inta yer tent when it came on hard. This time it was more'n jus' one; somethin' else had tagged along fer the ride. The pain, all over, was violent, veins bulgin' in yer head, near explodin', stickin' out there. You can remember the battle t get the top offa the safety bottle of paregoric,
that had a pain drug in it also. It was excruciatin' t even touch the bottle 'r move yer eyes t look fer the first aid kit in a tent that was goin' round 'n round 'n up 'n down. In a rippin' effort, ya wrenched the lid off 'n poured the pills in the depression of yer sternum, now soppin' full of sweat; 'n with a swipe ya got a bunch of 'em in yer mouth. They didn't seem t have any effect. Off 'n on it was violent everything -- sweats, chills, 'n jerks -- until ya got through it all 'n started concentratin' on the spot. A game you'd played in "X" t ferget it all 'n put ya inta a calm. Finally ya succeeded in ignorin' 'n overridin' the wildies 'n disappeared inta the calm, fightin' desperately t stay there. A couple times ya remembered doin' somethin', but then disappeared again inta yer refuge; 'n when ya finally came outta it, weak, wet 'n thirsty, it took ya quite a while t get enough strength up t even stand, unzip yer tent, do somethin', 'n fall on yer face again. A few more tries gotcha back inta the tent t gather strength t evaluate things. Later that day ya made it out, saw somebody, mumbled, 'n found out you'd been out of it goin' on yer third day. The next day ya found out that durin' the last few days somethin' had come through, 'n there was dead that needed buryin' -- burned up with fevers. The jungles have their own resident bacteria n viruses t take their toll on all who dare enter. Generally speakin', with all the revolutions, dictators, aspirin' dictators, coups, sicko groups takin' advantage of the situation, 'n what not, there's usually somebody asneakin' over somebody's border t do mischief, 'n a band of 'em was jus' up the beach an hour 'r so. A young female survivor had managed t make it down this far --
horrified, blood-splattered, dress ripped t shreds, in a glassy daze, 'n hardly knowin' who she was. Yep! Somebody up the beach a ways had done some nasty mischief that you out there in TV land don't wanna know nothin' about. It ain't whatcha think it is. Worse! Worser'n anything you'd come across. One o1' indian gal, round seventy 'n keepin' a young buck 'bout eighteen satisfied, came down t the beach 'n suggested ya move yer tent up the river a piece t her place. The dozen dogs ya knew by now, so ya wasn't gonna get shredded. The jungle folks kept 'em again' jaguars, they said, but mainly, ya figured, two-legged pole cats. Get within' ear shot of one of these, 'n you'd better smell real familiar 'n friendly 'r there's trouble up the road. She came outta her hut with a .32, thatcha later found out had sent a goodly number of mischief seekers on that last canoe ride -- puttin' a few outta their misery after bein' shredded by the dogs, which she now waved off, 'n they all disappeared inta the jungle, each t their favorite spots. The young buck, likewise, disappeared out there, too, along with a few other indiansall Mosquitoes who tracked their enemy n prey by smell. Nobody escaped! Everybody feared em, well, almost everyone; of the which, they could easily sense, smell. We got along fine. Nobody afearin nobody! The next day they were rattlin' on in an indian dialect --that you'd been workin' on tryin' t pick up t the effect they'd come across 'em 'n that they wouldn't be comin' this way -- some anyway, anymore, anyplace. The indians were very quiet about things like this. Nothin' more was mentioned, so ya didn't ask.
One o1' miner, round eighty, ya got t like real well --fulla pride, hard work, 'n honesty; had a young indian wife of six years, age eighteen, who spoke no Spanish and, as usual, was also very quiet. They was that way. Quiet. They'd fall down 'r hurt themselves somehow, they'uz quiet. From the littlest tot t the oldest, not a peep! She came up t ya one afternoon 'n shyly asked ya somethin' in an obscure indian dialect. She knew ya knew some. Guess it gave her confidence. Sure worked wonders on her. You struggled! No other word fer it. She'd seen ya patch up a few folks 'n had a request. Seems, 'n ya was stretchin', that she wasn't askin' fer herself. Pheeew! Got that outta the way. Her husband, first ya thought it was a coronary, "Has bad night." Another pheeew! It woulda been good if she'da used some expression, gestures, ya know, flailin' arms 'n appendages, woman things. Jus' stood there blank faced 'n talked. Twice she saw ya was havin' problems gettin' the gist of it 'n was about t stop 'n go, but ya got her t smile 'n relax. Try crackin' a joke with only a couple three dozen words of the language under yer belt. Wasn't sure whether the word was "wind" 'r "storm". Maybe he's scared of the dark when the wind blows. Didn't have any tranquilizers. Ah hah! Got "many". OK. Put it together. "Many bad night, wind, storm." Sounded like he got married t have someone there 'cause he was afraid of the dark.. Sure didn't strike ya as that kinda guy. The handful that lived out here were more of a ballsy nature. Shruggin' yer shoulders "don't know, sorry" like, she started t leave again, but ya got her t give it another try. It hadda be important 'r she wouldn't even have approached ya. Pain 'n
sufferin' was a way of life fer her. She was hurtin' fer him 'n ya couldn't help. Probably the first time in her life she'd ever asked fer help. Embarrassed. No potential welfare recipient here, no, sir! Wind." "Storm." It was in there someplace. Breeze? Catch cold? Nah! Gripa? Couldn't work. Ahhhh! There was some days when, fer some reason, he didn't show up t work his claim. You'd stopped by t look in 'n pass some time 'n maybe pick up some information 'bout past things. He knew ya weren't like the others but respected the past ways. He liked t have ya around. Well, he was definitely sick. Talk about frustration! What could cause ya t have "bad night", "many bad night", "wind", "storm"? Gas? Nope! Not a gas producin' diet. She saw ya were comin' apart with desperation. Then takin' a big, deep, smilin' breath, ya went 'n got yer first aid kit (you'd stocked it yerself) 'n took out a half dozen Tedral (Ephedrine hydrochloride+Phenobarbitol+-Theophyllin a bronchodilator). Why hadn't ya thought of it before? But he's such a hard worker. Then, with the top five leadin' killers in this country bein' lung related, with it really gettin' top five around banana plantations with all the chemical sprayin', ya felt like a fool. Asthma. With a little animation on yer part, she nodded. Time 'n countin' was easier. She understood explicitly the directions. If she followed 'em right she'd be out of the pills in six r twelve nights, if a-half tablet served.. In this way you'd make sure she knew how t use 'em, 'n then give her fourteen more with directions on how t purchase straight theophylline ( 150 mg n break in half
fer minimal 1/10 dosage) through somebody flyin' out 'n goin' t the big city. The next day she was so happy she "almost" smiled. Her husband, who she loved very much (he was quite a guy), had had his first real night's sleep since they'd been together. "No bad night." Checked n advised fer side effects. Ya had a small handful of whatcha felt were very valuable people, not only t their country, but t the world. Whatever was in yer power t see they stayed healthy long enough t make their necessary contributions, ya did it. Yer time was valuable, 'n they were gettin' it. Don't wanna lose no investments in the future, no, sir! There were those, if ya tried t help, you'd only fall inta the bleedin' heart trap that they plied everybody with, 'n besides, anything ya gave 'em, aspirin t penicillin, would be instantly sold fer "guaro". There were some that were even blackmailin' the small nutrition clinics, that, unless they gave 'em money, they wouldn't permit their malnourished children t receive free food. Literally starve 'em t death -- fer real-- ferever, final, in the ground death!! Cute! There was more of these than you'd think. Mutilatin' babies t attract sympathy from locals 'n tourists was common, acceptable practice. Hey, if these slimeballs come down with somethin', they gets t keep it, hopefully t the grave, 'n not soon enough. Cold, ya say? You bet! Where's Attila the Hun when ya need him? Hear that, Attila? Got a job fer ya. How'd ya like t rack up a few baby mutilators? Another lowlife was bleedin' the government's social security 'n local charities, killin', 'n blindin' folks with contraband "guaro", sending his kids out at night t rip off
the locals, hustlin' children inta prostitution 'n gettin' 'em hooked on drugs 'n pornographic materials. Community tried desperately (seekin' help from local police t national "guardia") t get him jailed, prosecuted, 'r anything, but the authorities jus' shrugged it off as kids' stuff. Interestin'. Deja vu? After every expedition, you'd head back t the wonders of civilization: turnin' on a spigot t fill up a jug, half full of used toilet paper 'n trimmin's, 'n boil it t make it somehow "all pure"; 'r cleanin' up yer small house, as ya entered, of all the rats that'd taken over. Kinda fun, grabbin' them rats as they jumped atcha from the rafters 'n cupboards, jus' squeezin' them big suckers t death. One in each hand, beatin' others with 'em. Squeezin' 'n beatin'. Course, this kinda exhilaratin' activity may not be fer everyone, but fer what it's worth, the record stands at eight rats 'n a dozen mice in a couple minutes of squeezin' 'n beatin', fer those of ya out there that feel ya wanna go fer it. A good activity the P.T.A. could get inta, maybe, when they get together, comparin' techniques 'n all; work it inta their fund drives. Anyway, fed the spoils the next mornin' t yer pet rooster, who now waxed fat on this diet 'n strutted around the neighborhood seekin' rodents, after he got a taste fer 'em. Amazed the neighbors t no end t see this critter, twice the size of any they'd ever encountered, chug-a-luggin' rats 'r wanderin' around with a big tail danglin' outta his beak when he'd tackled a particularly luscious "grande".
Well, except fer a few closin' comments 'n you folks havin' t have used yer imagination a lot, that is fer anybody still hangin' in out there, this maybe has given ya a rough sketch of somethin', who knows what. After all the critics, negatives, 'n isolationists have taken their shots, ACTION 'n Peace Corps will still stand as one of America's best long investments in humanity, fer all parties concerned: developin' countries, volunteers, 'n United States. Even the "Gringo go homies" will eventually run outta steam. T run such an operation has gotta be on par with a perpetual "D-DAY", 'n believe it 'r not, probably less glitches. Only a few personal ones come t mind after a couple years down here: one, a "Catch-22";n the other, communicatin' with a new machine, called a computer, the government was now usin' t keep records. All governments need officially stamped 'n verified Catch-22's, 'r they hardly qualify as a legitimate government. The insects were thick down here 'n the Peace Corps issue insect repellent, some offbeat government contract, was worthless. But the U.S. Government did have Jungle Juice, N-diethyl-meta-toluamide. That stuff worked but was not available here at P.C. headquarters; but the orderin' catalogue was. One local, complete with office, had the job of orderin'. Forms were attained, numbers 'n quantities were filled in, 'n a few months of waitin' later resulted in this: "Wait a minute, seor. Let's see if we got that right. Your job is to order U.S. Government surplus that can be used by the Peace Corps, right?" "S." "And though this
is a government agency, officially qualifying it to use said catalogue, the volunteers aren't, being civilians, right?" "S." "Then who is to use materials ordered here in this room, using these forms?" "You, seor." "Ah, yes. And though we can't receive anything, you still have us fill in the forms because that is your job, to help us fill out forms to order things we won't get, right?" "S, seor." "You know we will not get anything we order?" "S, seor." "But, you still help us fill out order forms 'n order things because that is your job?" "S, seor. Your order will be properly processed and sent out." "Ah, yes. But, being as we are volunteers, we are disqualified from
purchasing anything from that catalogue, that urgently requests that anybody who can use any of these materials please request them before they are destroyed, correct?" "S, seor." "It is best, then, to have a friend buy it from a military surplus store in the States and send it down here?" "No, seor. Why have a friend go to all the trouble of buying, wrapping, and shipping, when you can order it right here in this office from this catalogue. That is what we are here for. That is my job." "But it will never come. It will be a disqualified order, right?" "S, seor." "All very clear. Thank you for your services." You tried havin' some sent down, but real insect repellent, that really worked, had about as much chance as a camera, radio, 'r Swiss Army knife gettin' through the postal service here. Thank goodness fer yer hot water trick. Second. Yer first real contact, with what they called a computer, did not bode well. The order, law, reads somethin' like this, "If a volunteer fails to get his/her gamma
globulin shots every three months, they will be immediately terminated and sent home." Like clockwork, the office would notify ya t go get yer shots, 'n like clockwork ya went. First year ran smoothly; then a notice came that, unless ya got yer required shots, you would be sent home. Well, yer butt still had the needle marks from not much more'n a week ago. A visit t the office was t no avail. The P.C. doctor had all the records. So off ya went t see the good doctor. He, too, had received the notice that, "If these volunteers don't get gamma globulin shots in the next week, they are to be sent home." He hadda sign if they received. He tried callin', but, again, t no avail. The orders were t get a shot now 'r go home! Well, down came the pants. A couple weeks later another notice came -- the same. Same futility. The doctor again tried desperately t convince the office but only received a, "We have our orders from Washington. Everybody on that list gets a shot now, and you sign that you gave them that shot now, or they get sent home." Down came the pants. Well, t make another potentially short story long, this went on near every month fer seven months, with the same response. Luckily, at first anyway, ya didn't react, like many of the volunteers, t the gamma globulin shots 'n get stiff somethin' terrible. That was at first; now they were startin' t get t ya. Both the doctor 'n deputy director got on the phone; no one could do anything, even in Washington. The head Peace Corps director down here wouldn't get involved with the affairs of volunteers 'n refrained from bein' seen with 'em outside the office, especially if he was payin' a token visit t any
volunteer in what he considered any location that might not promote his political aspirations. His one biggie was t unquestionably obey the notices sent from Washington, that were received from the computer. Not knowin' a lick about this "program" thing, ya asked the deputy director t request Washington t send ya down a feed out 'r somethin', so maybe you could unravel it. As it turned out, enough phone calls were comin' in from all over that they decided t give it a look-see. Ah hah! The machine did have a flaw. Nothin' t worry about though. They got it all straightened out, once n fer all. Fill in a little somethin' of yer own here. Anyway, be worth watchin', this glorious new age of computers. The insignificant individual, 'n gettin' insignificanter daily, might wind up bent, spindled, 'n folded if he didn't fall obediently in line, like those who recently had so readily wanted t accept it as some kinda savior, leader, guide, 'r omnipotent thinker, even above protest 'n common sense. Interestin', not scary. Scary was what happened back on that beach t that one female survivor. So, ya see, what with all the volunteers workin' in so many different parts of the world, Peace Corps is really a well-run, efficient piece of human ingenuity, 'n the incidents mentioned, of scant import, are more quaint than anything else. Could say negative things about North Americans 'n their influence down here: erosion from excessive overgrazin'; dumpin' cigarettes 'n lethal chemicals off on the unsuspectin'; destruction of their land; manipulation of local markets, from chocolate t
baby milk; religious vermin rippin' 'em off with deceptions; cuddly pit bulls shreddin' 'em; 'n the other dozen pages of things. But there's a passel of good Americans down here, sharin', helpin', 'n volunteerin' -- showin' that there are Americans that care!
CHAPTER 33
A few things had been workin' on ya, so back in the States ya found yerself with a sixth grade in a small, two hundred 'n fifty kid school, high in the Northwest desert. Again, large cattle ranches accounted fer most of the population; only this time they were operated by educated 'n practical folk. Yer usual basic tack of non-interference with their personal interests would be of tantamount importance this time. With bright skies, we soon were daily cookin' with a large solar oven; were heatin' the frigid, barn stall-type, frozen-floored classroom with large, heat blastin', aluminum-canned window inserts; had elevated a section of desks a yard offa the floor (a degree Fahrenheit rise per inch of elevation) so that all could get a turn at "Florida" complete with attire, when it was -10F. outside; had created a hot chocolate, soup, mornin' pick up program fer those hearty souls up at 4 a.m. fer chores 'n breakfast; 'n had put in labs 'n philosophies t encourage independent pursuits.
Again, through incidents, you will be led t see darkly where, if other manners of presentations were employed, you would see clearly. Well, not really. To confuse all! "Adelante!" Due t the State's decision t eliminate those who would not work from the welfare rolls, the rats now fled the central more populated counties (first t be affected by the ordinance) 'n swarmed t the less populated counties where they could still work their magic on the unsuspectin' 'n bleedin' hearts. This once peaceful, small community now suffered crime 'n violence on a grand scale. Enter that great arbitrator of social destiny, the solar cooker. One second 'r third generation welfare family had made the forced migration t this small town 'n was bleedin' all local charities, organizations, churches, 'n county facilities t the limit durin' the day and, with their carload of kids, burglarizin' the merchants at night. The oldest kid, in high school -- 'n with such a long police record of aggressive violence that even the Army wouldn't accept him -- had recently, again, unprovoked, attacked a smaller non- aggressive kid, only this time sendin' the unfortunate victim t the hospital. The community was "up t here" with 'em. Have we been here before 'r not? More deja vu? So, when the big kid, along with his brother, snuck around t the elementary side t steal baked apples 'r pizzas, nobody said anything as t what happened after he had
stuck his whole arm inta the solar oven t "grab 'n run" apples 'r pizzas, 'n his whole inside forearm stuck t the searin' hot walls of the inside oven 'n sizzled. The elementary students always approached it as a regular oven at home, with mittens 'n caution, as they helped around the house. His resultin' burn was a good foot long, a couple inches wide, 'n blistered ever so nicely. (With a little gravy --who knows?) A dandy. Shame he never considered pickin' up any of those "helpin'" skills. The welfare family protested unta the heavens, administration, board, parents, 'n even police, 'n local court (who the kid had laughed at fer their leniency when he'd been caught in the act robbin' a store); 'n when they threatened t take it t the highest courts, all they got was a, "Please do," as the locals were tired of their ilk 'n were well aware that wherever they had come from last would definitely not come t their defense, most likely probably bearin' warrants. Lots of chuckles in the community. Solar cookin' was takin' on a whole new aspect of merit. "Yes, sir! Every community needs a solar cooker!" A cute incident occurred in relation t a quiet, very smart girl who liked t read. Now, t keep you folks out there fully aware of the extent of yer non-interference, you had been very careful not t interfere with "what" the students read by choice. No suggestions -- none! Best t resist the temptation. That will come later on, up the road a
piece, years maybe. The world is definitely not ready fer what that will unleash. Anyway, she pursued her interest in animals 'n read, read, 'n read. Her mother, a dedicated "Soaps" freak, dropped by one afternoon with a concern. Please take this as a genuine concern. The concern of the mother, a non-book reader, was that it might be harmful t her if she didn't get involved with other kids in community activities. Well, puttin' this in perspective, the only activity that the community had, 'n which most kids stayed away from, but which she continually suggested t her daughter, was the Center -- a pool hall/pin ball, smoke-filled affair, frequented only by problem kids 'n motorcycle gangs passin' through. This mother was really outta touch with everything not in a soap script. To make matters worse, the girl didn't even like TV, of which the mother, whose very existence depended upon it in the worst kinda way, couldn't understand. "She doesn't do anything except her chores, study, practice her instrument, play with her animals, and read. She won't even try drinking beer or smoking cigarettes. Don't you think people will think she's odd? She does so need to mix to be socially acceptable." Yer reply, "Ma'am, in spite of you 'n society, she's not gonna go down there; face it, leastways, not with you a-forcin' 'n goadin' her. 'Sides, at least at this stage of the game anyway, she might possibly come home with somethin' that's even worse than doin' her chores, studyin', practicin' her instrument, playin' with her animals, 'n readin',
hard t believe as that may sound. Keep yer efforts up though 'n you'll see what'll happen! You'll not get yer desires. No, Ma'am! They'll be refused you. The more ya insist, the more you'll distance yerself from her. Best approach? Hands off! If ya wish t lead her inta these oh so necessary social qualities, let her continue helpin' others, learnin', workin', studyin' animals, 'n readin' in her spare time; hopefully she will tire of these dreary, meaningless pursuits, 'n then ya can guide her inta more socially acceptable avenues. If it's any consolation at all, there are parents with children exactly like her (parents exactly like you might be a little more difficult t come by, though -didn't mention that t her), so yer not alone. Right now it's yer basic communication gap between parent 'n kid. Surely you've heard of THE communication gap? It's slow 'n tedious, this evolution t higher, social thought." She muttered, "Oh! It's not that I think there's anything wrong with school and getting an education. Well, it's just that it's so boring and dull." Seriously replyin', "See yer point, ma'am! See yer point. Keep the faith! Have patience!" She, resignedly, before leavin', "Oh, I do so hope you are right." Well, at least that got the parent offa the kid's case, in her personal pursuit of excellence. Aunt Biddy spinster, every community has one, was on her anti-smut-book campaign with the typical spiel: all books with four letter words, suggestions of sex, especially homosexuality, new 'n unfamiliar ideas, philosophies 'n somehow
unacceptable literature were heaped up, topped by the violator of near everything, the King James version, what with its big four letter, biblical "F" word, "knew", 'n guys 'n angels gettin' it together. The damage this fire 'n brimstone zealot was doin' t the exceptionally high quality library --carefully stocked with the best of time-proven classics 'n ideas, by the elderly, lover-of-great-literature librarian gal -- was devastatin'. Seems Dick, Jane, 'n Spot were about all that remained after the hatchet-fervored holocaust subsided. The symptoms were always the same: lonely, dejected, fergotten, 'n confused souls seekin' the good old days when four letter words 'n strange ideas didn't exist. All the manifestations of senility were there, from easily diagnosed frustrations 'n intolerance t change t their each 'n own particular, personal version of manifest destiny. Oddly enough, as you've probably noticed, one can be quite young, near devoid of life experiences, 'n manifest the extremes of senility; 'r quite gray haired 'n crinkly, havin' suffered the full brunt of life's calamities, 'n remain unscathed, symptom free. It would appear that life is not meant fer everyone -- especially those that continually seek t prohibit the livin' of it fer others. Books seemed t be an appropriate avenue t lash out with their frustrations at a rapidly changin' world they couldn't understand. Here they were, on their way out, tryin' t teach, tell their story, how it was, should be; only those books weren't cooperatin' with their delusions, with their written down in black 'n
white, clear 'n concise, 'n above all, accurate reminders of how it really was. Maybe not so glorious as they'd told it 'r liked t remember it. This goadin' reality served only t further alienate 'em, even from themselves. Only the story they really had wanted, waited, 'n practiced so many years t tell, was now blinded by negative hostilities. What they had failed t do was look inta the books they now condemned -- seek out their richness, variety, depth, 'n stimulatin' challenges; and, in doin' so, the seeds of that which now blinded 'em wouldn'ta had a chance t sink in their life sappin', cancerous roots. Whatever their reasons, 'n there were many, there were those that came outta the cracks of the woodwork, empassioned, t keep books outta the hands of kids. Attacked from all sides, a kid was -- Snatch! Snatch! Anyway, if these symptoms show up in yer community treat 'em as a case of senile dementia, as these addled 'n dodderin' poor souls have, in reality, no idea of what they're doin'; like bein' short circuited 'r afflicted with a loose bowel movement of the brain. Unfortunately, the cure does have a rather steep, exactin' toll that results in total mind change where even yer closest friends will stand aghast, in awe at the transformation. The diseased must read a selection, say a hundred 'r so, of historically banned books by authors, say startin' with Hawthorne, Stowe, Tolstoy, Twain, Solzhenitsyn, Salinger, 'n Keasey fer a start. Even the King James is right up there.
Personally, Ezekial's wheel, fiery chariots, 'n angels comin' down outta the sky is most interestin', in the light of bein' accurate n' documented, historical accounts of visitations from intelligent life on other planets. Please be careful t observe that it is not the time, place, 'r subject -- bein' mere symptoms -- but t the disease that the cure is prescribed. An educational priority rundown here, fer yer viewin' pleasure. The high school sports program ran the school, 'n the head coach ran the program: from his students freely sackin' the elementary supply room 'n individual classes fer anything necessary -i.e. art paper 'n paints t decorate the field of combat fer the next game t higher-ups sackin' all available 'r unavailable funds, includin' Title Program funds fer readin', handicapped 'n disadvantaged. Actually, on count, there were no more'n a dozen students in the whole school in the high school sports program, most very marginal t defunct academically, who received these benefits. Every school threw out its dumb gladiators, its very expensive dumb gladiators, t do battle fer the community honor. At any price, money well spent. You'd stopped a tackle football game once that you'd been invited to (between our fourth t sixth graders 'n what turned out t be the oppositions eighth 'n ninth graders), due t the followin' incident, which turned out not only t be illegal, but was also over the heated protests of coaches from both sides.
There was a runt of a fifth grader from our school who was makin' yardage every time against the big goons. He then made a touchdown. The opposition had made four touchdowns, but their coach couldn't bear the idea of givin' anything t the other side. He was swingin' arms, jumpin' up 'n down, cursin' as loud as he could, "Get that little fucker! Stop him!" After the touchdown he assigned five big ninth graders only on the runt, tryin' t trip, kick, gouge, 'n hit him. "This isn't no game you know. This is football! What's wrong with you pansies out there? Shit! Stop him, dammit!" They finally did manage t stop him. Four of the ninth graders ran him outta bounds, 'n all four of 'em jumped on him, kickin', swingin, kneein', 'n punchin'. Their coach didn't do nothin' except grunt out, "Guess that shows him. Who the hell he think he is?" This incident, of no concern t anybody but yerself, led ya t slowly, ever so slowly, wander through the playin' field, stoppin' the game, casually talkin' t the players along the way, t have a homey chit chat with that mountain of belchin' lard. "Ever notice the difference between a hundred 'n fifty pound ninth grader 'n an eighty pound sixth grader?" His near coronary, gas belchin' through lardy flaps reply was quite touchin'. "Why you fuckin' son-of-a-bitch! Who the shit do you think you are anyway? This is school policy. We've been doin' this for years. This is the only way the eighth and ninth graders get any playing experience." More 'r less ignorin' him 'n walkin' over t the opposin' side's benches, loaded with fifth 'n sixth graders,
"Hmmmmm! Seems we're supplyin' the fourth t sixth graders, 'n yer supplyin' the seven t ninth graders, heavy on the ninth. Messy! Messy! Legally, that is." Still wanderin' 'n talkin' more t the kids on the bench than t him, "How many of you guys wanna play the game?" Sheepishly a bunch raised their hands. Now, lookin' direct at the opposin' coach, two-hundred 'n fifty pounds of spoiled, poutin' snot, who'd jus' had his war games interrupted 'n toys taken away from him, "There ya have it! It's settled. We have a bunch of fifth 'n sixth graders wantin' t play, 'n you have a bunch of fifth 'n sixth graders wantin' t play. See how easy that was?" Departin' with a, "Glad t be of service. Anytime. Don't hesitate t call." Over his ever escapin' gas problem, ya noticed a high school student from yer school, who'd come along t watch the game, approach the fumin' o1' lard butt 'n whisper somethin'. Instantly he looked ya over, from across the field, perplexity 'n consternation changin' t a sheepish grin, as he called the big ninth graders out 'n sent in the fifth 'n sixth graders. After this incident, some mothers 'n teachers said, "No more," t this established practice 'n school policy, due t injuries. This all happened after another incident that we'll get t later on. But first, on t interests, nay dreams. Olga Korbut was doin' her wonders in gymnastics, fascinatin' 'n ignitin' kids all over the world, in yer corner, too. Now, ya start fulfullin' interests 'n wishes 'n grantin' dreams-come-true stuff, 'n the line starts formin' t have a whack at the lamp. Wendy, a
fifth grader, was one of 'em, after seein' what was goin' on in yer room. She came up, with another girl, "Is there any way we could learn gymnastics? We've wanted to learn so bad, but there isn't anybody way out here to teach us. We've even tried neighboring towns, too." She mentioned 'em all, some over a hundred miles away. Lookin' seriously at this one, all aflame with the slightest shred of hope, "How bad do ya wanna suffer, kid? How bad do ya wanna see what yer really made of? No chance there. Best ferget it, kid. Whatcha see, whatcha think ya see, takes grit. Grit not bought cheaply, t grind 'n grind yerself, achin' so bad it feels good jus' t hurt all over. No sympathy. No pity. Seek it 'n yer finished -- a loser! Ever battle yerself? How bad do ya really wanna be a loser, kid? That's what it's all about, grit; see yerself as ya really are." She looked straight back in yer eyes, determined 'n dead sober, "You know something we don't!! You've been there haven't you?! Havent you?! If you can teach us that, you'll get your grit! I want that chance! I'd die before I'd whimper. To anybody! Even myself." Grinnin', ya walked away, givin' her a wink, 'n a, "Gutsy little wench." Later that day ya wandered inta her class 'n sat on her desk, "When was the first time the madness hit ya, 'r have ya always been insane?" She said as long as she could remember, kindergarten, first grade. "Hmmmmm, that long?" Pausin' 'n thinkin', then, "Ever heard of negative integers, kid?" She shook her head. Mumblin' more t yerself, of the which she was pickin' up everything, "There is a way. Yep! Well, there could be
a way. Maybe!" Then, slowly ya caught her eyes, 'n ever so softly 'n ponderin'ly, "A slim chance, possibly, thatcha can start when you were in kindergarten. How'd ya like that? She sat in a spellbound daze, thinkin', dreamin', 'n returnin', relivin' hopes, her mind caught up in another world, her own special world, far away, 'n then, not breakin' the spell, she smiled from that other special world as a tear trickled down her cheek, 'n softly, bitin' her lip, "I think I'd really like that." She knew there were no games here; of that she was absolutely sure. You entered this new world 'n all was real -- especially dreams! Ya left without sayin' anything more. Years ago you'd figured out the lactic acid cycle (it's not in texts), experimentin' with yer own body. You could fool yer body 'n learn from it. Coaches, them that could read (the others they had teach physics, chemistry 'n quantum things), had been readin' the wrong material. Gotta learn t read yer body: hormones, acids, chemicals, exhaustion, fatigue t recovery times, 'n personal patterns. It wasn't a two 'r three hours at a whack, a day, till yer tired. More t yer body than even these prime, Neanderthal specimens were led t believe. What would take the average kid, in any average, acceptable way that it's done, football coach mentality, gymnastics program three years, could be comfortably accomplished in six months. You'd seen other gymnasts, outside the general programs, also excel rapidly, incorporatin' other facets. Shame we can't get together n compare notes.
Wendy dropped in again next recess. She knew the mats on the floor were fer her. No questions. "Gonna give ya some tests: sittin' 'n fallin' backwards; degree arch; flexibility; commandin' yer body t react t two 'r three things at the same time; 'n respondin' instantly 'n precisely t a voice inside you. It is t there, this voice, you must learn t listen! Nope, this ain't no task fer chowder heads, sweetie!" She knew she was capable, 'n so within a week of three times a day fer fifteen minutes, on temporarily commandeered mats, she'd been slowly broken in 'n was up t round-offs 'n back handsprings by herself 'n was workin' on backs. Without havin' mentioned anything about a pattern, ya whispered as ya were spottin' 'n pushin' her fer faster back handsprings, "Testin' yerself! It's good ya fight yerself so well, so savagely." She stopped after a round of twenty speedy back handsprings 'n collapsed on her butt on the mat, startled 'n drippin' with exhaustion, "How did you know?" Smilin' 'n likewise exhausted, "Listen t that voice again, the one way in there, very carefully!" Somewhat unsettled about bein' discovered 'n read by another, apparently so easily, on such a personal, only "hers" level, she blushed, a bit embarrassed, "Are there NO secrets?" "Count on it, Sweetie!" Cattle ranchin', pitchin' bales of hay, stretchin' wire in the icy cold 'n snow had prepared her well. Casually mentionin', after the first week, "It kinda hurts, doesn't it?"
Catchin' herself, before she almost groaned, she blurted out, "No, not a bit! I feel fine! Let's get busy." Other students got caught up in the spirit of the thing, maybe wantin' t share her dream; but, fer most, when they got close t this mettle-testin' fire of another's dream, it got a bit too hot fer 'em. Ya tested 'em all though, lettin' 'em know strong 'r weak points. They accepted the truth, realizin' this was definitely no place t play games, mince words, 'r dabble in the merchandizin' of false hopes. Four weeks later, addressin' a half-dozen stalwart sorts, who'd managed t survive any delusions they might have once harbored 'n who were comin' along better than anticipated, with a, "You kids need t pee yer pants!" brought squeals 'n jumps 'n three back handsprings from Wendy, along with, "When? When?" "Well, haven't quite informed anybody jus' yet, but figured we could sneak in at half time this Friday night's basketball game. Seven minutes! Mats up 'n out!" The boys in the class considered it an honor t set up 'n take out the mats in this, the first-of-its-kind event, ever, in the history of whatever this town was called. They were proud of the girls. One manned the old record player. At half-time, ya gave a quick ten second spot as mats were bein' laid out; both caught the hundred 'r so spectators attention, 'n before they knew what was happenin', they were struck dumbfounded with amazement. Except fer the old record player, utter
silence ensued. The girls, each in turn, quickly ran through a one run routine, one girl after the next in rapid succession down the mats, repeatin' this sequence until each girl had gone through three 'r four increasingly more difficult routines. When they got t any toughies, back layouts 'r half twists, ya gave 'em a tiny spot, if necessary. In seven minutes it was all over, 'n the returnin' basketball players thought the wild, roarin' applause was fer them. Cute! Contrary t all their most horrid fears, of utterly fergettin' it all 'n windin' up a desolate soul, they had learned t blot it all out 'n concentrate intensely on their exact moves, lettin' nothin' interfere. We'd practiced that. Wendy came up after she'd changed, "It was fun and exciting, but it was also necessary. We need to pee our pants more!" Three times a day the mats got rolled out, from their one big roll, diagonally across the classroom, endin' at the door; with chairs bein' in a huge circle, there was no need t do much movin'. Three times a day, spottin' 'n pushin' 'em twenty t fifty back handsprings 'r alternatin' 'em with backs, up, turn around, 'n comin' back on the mats until exhausted, each trip pushin' 'em faster 'n faster, a blur, with an occasional, very soft, often unspoken "now" thrown in, halfway in the air, so's they'd hit the layout 'r twist 'n land lightly, tight 'n standin' still. Well, tried t most of the time. Made a low beam which got more sweat outta em.
By now, two months later, there were nine kids, grades K t six, comin' daily, who had also put on six 'r seven more performances between half-time games, at home 'n away. The basketball players eventually caught on t what the applause was really about. Took a little wind outta their sails. A Clue! Excessively egocentric pubescence has difficulty sharin' the world with anyone else, especially little sister in elementary 'r, worse yet, kindergarten. This was, more 'r less, the goad that was really stickin' the professional "meathead" dozen high school jocks who had, up till now, enjoyed deitydom, with its official NFL, NBA strut, all t themselves 'n not them really wantin' back, fer wrestlin' practice, the old, rag mats they'd thrown away 'n we'd sewn back up fer classroom use. To say it all started with a tot's dream way back in kindergarten someplace would sum it up pretty well. The dream had suddenly sprouted wings, along with a handful of other tiny dreamers, 'n now in 1977 had finally grown inta an immense, obnoxious, purply boil that grew 'n grew on the nose of the adolescent Jock Squad 'n wouldn't go away. The head coach also had pimple problems, still at that sensitive age when the gods don't like t compete fer thunder. This festerin' pustule reached inflammation heights at the big, big game of the year. On home court, too! Surprisingly, not too many people showed up at the start of the big game, thirty 'r forty 'r so. Disappointin' t the regal splendors, t say the least. But, not t be
dismayed, the folks started tricklin' in; 'n wouldn't ya know it, soon the whole basketball auditorium was packed 'n folks were standin' -- lots of folks were standin'. Important game like this, you'd think they'd wanna see the whole game 'n not jus' the last half; paid the same price t see the whole game. Oh well, folks are funny that way. Anyway, musta been near four hundred spectators. Kids couldn't hardly get the mats set up when half-time came. Funny, nobody even made the least inclination t leave at the half-time break, but all stood up 'n applauded their little tinies as they came out t perform. There were folks here who weren't on either side of the teams; as a matter of fact, that's who most of these folks were. Some we'd later found out had come from over a hundred miles -- many, other gymnasts t watch these tiny girls doin' things in three months that they hadn't even thought of doin' after three years. Well, the girls hit it at their best. The speed amazed the other high school gymnasts present from other schools, "If you blinked, you missed the three handsprings before the layout with a full twist! We couldn't believe you could work the floor that fast. Three months?" The little girls never did get big-headed. They knew what it'd cost. Even t think that it was easier than it was might cause it t seep in durin' a performance. It was hard work 'n precise timin', 'n that was that! On t the pimple!
It had now reached the size that blurred all vision 'n pulsed with violent, egostabbin' pains, fer the jocks had seen how good the tiny girls were 'n couldn't accept the idea of anyone else in their universe capable of inspirin' this kinda awe, leastwise, if they couldn't. To make matters worse, the jocks couldn't hardly get back inta the auditorium fer the crowd leavin! Within' five minutes the auditorium was almost vacant again, thirty 'r forty locals left. Somethin' t think about, folks comin' all that way, payin' the full price t watch the big game, but only stickin' around t watch the half-time break. Must be somethin' in there someplace. You milk it fer awhile 'n see whatcha come up with. Couple days later steps were in progress t try t eliminate this elementary gymnastics thing, once 'n fer all, when five big high school kids strutted in, dressed in wrestlin' gear, without knockin', bargin' right in, shoutin', laughin' 'n disturbin' the class 'n started shovin' kids in their desks around so's they could get t our old, sewed up mats. Billy, our slim, record player operator, through his thick glasses, saw what they were up t 'n tried t stop 'em, but a good clout sent him t the floor, his glasses sprawlin' 'n breakin'. He tried tcome back fer some more, when ya caught their attention 'n inquired of things like common courtesy 'n why the high school'd even bother with our old rag mats when they had all new ones, enough t cover over 5,000 square feet of gym floor, not t mention the two large wrestlin mats n piles more in much better condition
than our old rags, n all fer jus six on the wrestlin team. They rebutted, "We need them and besides, it's none of your damn business!" Addressin' 'em all at once, "Enough of this poppycock! The door is there, and, when ya pick up a few manners, yer welcome t come back again." They impudently responded, "Who do you think you are anyway, talking to us like that? You're just a flunky elementary teacher. You don't even know who I am, do you?" (A very influential parent's kid. Picked him right outta their nose, they did.) "If it wasn't for me on the football team, nobody would even know this school exists." Replyin', "Well, well, well! Aren't we all bloated up 'n fulla gas today!" Three 'r four of 'em all responded at once, "The coach told us to do it, so you can't say nothing." And then laughin' together, "Whatta dumb shit!" Again, bringin' their attention t the door, they finally turned around in the class 'n started threatenin', "Wait till the coach hears about this." They talked loudly t themselves as they headed fer the door, "The fuckin' bastard! Who the fuck does he think he is? He's gonna eat shit when my old man hears about this. The coach'll set his ass straight." Out here in the middle of nowhere, cattle country, the boys were a little rough around the edges, but basically good. The kids in class, who'd lived there fer years, said nobody defied the coach. He got everything he wanted, even though the elementary school was allowed only the barest supplies so that the high school sports program could have the best uniforms, equipment, 'n lots of travelin' expense money. The principal 'n superintendent even
buckled under his demands, threats, 'n intimidations. Well, here come the Redcoats, 'n the council, by now already well trained, rose 'n automatically ushered Gandhi up t the front t have the first shot, hopin' he'd fail! The coach came down in a minute, furious. He almost knocked the door offa the hinges, puttin' a hole in the wall where the door knob hit as he burst in, also without knockin', along with the whole high school wrestlin' team 'n demanded, "I want those mats now! Can you understand that, dummy? Now! Get the mats, boys!" The only thing in their way was a quiet, grinnin' stare 'n a calm, "Wouldn't try that boys." They stopped. The coach ordered them again, 'n again they started forward but hesitated short of the grin 'n backed off. The coach bellowed out, "You don't seem to know who I am!" "Hmmmmm? Well, isn't that a coincidence, now! There seems t be a lot of these unknown people droppin' in today." Glaringly, "I'll have your job for this. Why, if you weren't such a dumb elementary teacher, I'd beat the crap outta you just to teach you a real lesson." His continuin' on 'n on harangue suddenly came t a halt in the middle of some choice, well-oiled, threatenin' intimidation, by someone from the council -- who it was escaped ya -- slippin' in an indifferent, devil-may-care, "Here 'r outside? With 'r without yer lardbutt, dildo goons! Makes no difference!" To say this set him back 'n put him on entirely unfamiliar territory would be t deny what all in the room now witnessed. His face started turnin' pale as he noticeably
tried t gulp unnoticeably, tryin' t wet lips with sticky saliva from an instantly dry mouth when it finally sunk in 'n he realized this wasn't a game. There wasn't anything in this room that was a game, from sixth graders doin' math/science labs that'd blow away his high school dummos, t the high priority put upon a little girl's personal dream, which he couldn't understand by any stretch of the imagination, in his, "All at once, hup, one, two, three," world. Yer smile 'n stare continued as his face got paler t ashen 'n mouth drier. A full half minute he tried t think of somethin' t say 'r even make his tongue work. The guy's bluff had been called, 'n there wasn't nothin' inside him, much t the chagrin of the council. Not a lick of the, "Kill, kill, kill," he shouted t the football team, 'r the, "Fight like men, you pansies," t injured players sent back in. Pathetically he mumbled somethin' that nobody could understand. The high school wrestlin' team took it as a hint t leave, 'n leave they did -- silently! It's best they did. This noxious blowhard had, at last, met someone who didn't play the intimidation game. If big, loud, 'n threatenin' didn't work, then he had nothin' else. # 17 had a defect; course that did come in some handy when it came t a little frontier law 'n order. It appeared, up front anyway, that near everything out here revolved around Goon Ball. There wasn't anybody that dared question this holy, time honored sanction. The school'd spend it all t ship a handful of dummy goons from one patch of isolated
desert sand t another patch of isolated desert sand all over the state. You'd think they were stormin' Iwo Jima 'r Guadalcanal the way they hated, kicked, gouged, 'n tried t maim 'n mutilate the enemy. Math, science, 'n readin' were left out in the cold t get by as best they could, grovelin' 'n whimperin' at the feet of the Goon Lords 'n Super Crotch fer a few crumbs. There were indeed those that felt academics served no function 'r held any priority whatsoever within the school system. Oh, fer what it's worth, this is the incident that occurred immediately prior t the fourth t sixth graders vs. the eighth 'n ninth graders football incident. Appears a kinda pattern is settin' in, incident t incidentwise. The assistant coach, a younger guy, who'd been frustrated with his attempts t improve the academic quality of the sports department by a no passin' grade no play policy, came by the next day. We got along pretty well. Laughin', "Heard what happened yesterday. Whatever you did, you sure put the fear in him. He's shook up. Gave the boys something to think about too, judging from the locker room chatter. They think highly of anyone who stands his ground. I've got a feeling, a very strong feeling, knowing you this last year, that it was best for him to walk away. I've taught gymnastics, but nothing like that. Christ! They're so damn fast! How do you spot them? How do you communicate to them without shouting orders? Do you ever even talk to them? Jesus, man! If we could get those dodo brains on first string to move as fast, just
with their hands, as those little girls do with their bodies, and to do it without screaming, we could win State, hands down. That's a whole new meaning to communication. Wheeeeeew! Fast! Give me a buzz if you need anything. Oh, we've got some better mats up there you can use. Boys will be more than glad to bring them down." The next year the girls were good! We had two girls that were gettin' close t double backs. One had the height but hit it too late. The other had the timin' 'n speed but not quite the height. We were takin' out the high ceiling lights in class. Got t be a challenge. The crowds got bigger. Out of all the hoopla, things popped up. This small desert community had an Olga Korbut. A tiny five year old in kinder. Genetically, she had 'em all beat. In the park, on the grass, she'd do back handsprings, backs, 'n layouts as effortlessly as other kids did everyday skippin', jumpin', 'n runnin'. Smiles, giggles, 'n full of feist. The family was itinerate but was tryin' t stay in the community. Poor! Barefooted t gather water in the river a half mile away, winter through the snow. Tough as nails 'n smilin' all the way, she was. America could be a tat greater becomin' aware of its natural resources among the hard workin' poor. Two gentle, very small boys, lookin' like first graders in fourth 'n fifth grade 'n absolutely too small fer any football team their father insisted upon, tried desperately t
join the makeshift gymnastic troop. They really liked independent-type things 'n were both naturals, but their father forbade them t participate in this sissy stuff. "Drink beer and play football. A man's sport!" Another, much larger school up north, contacted ya t test 'n pick out from their student body a small group of kids that could form the beginnin', the nucleus, of a gymnastics program. Start small, cautiously, 'n learn. They had found out that this wasn't a sport fer everybody. Tinies 'n genetics played heavy roles. As a matter of fact, everybody else had "all" the other sports t choose from. The tinies had maybe only this one. In reality it was find a sport where those, because of their size, could participate. Big got damaged in gymnastics, 'n tiny got damaged in big kids' sports. As was yer weakness, you'd visited everything the school had t offer, curiosity of sorts, durin' yer numerous visits t the school, readin' the charts, programs, 'n visitin' near every class, "casin' da joint." On one visit ya found the remedial readin' program folks all depressed about the sudden drop in scores. Lookin' over a bunch of individual error charts real quick proved their concern. Though yer idea of readin' differed greatly from the established norms, this was a non-involvement time. Back at the home base, wanderin' in the hills, a thought hit ya. Next week ya were testin' the fifth graders up there. Casually, before ya started, ya wandered over t the remedial readin' department 'n mentioned, "Yer scores, by now,
will be gettin' back t normal." This brought a curious, "How did you know?" Shruggin' it off, "But jus' fer the heck of it, go over t the main office 'n see if any of yer kids have red tabs." There was near a hundred kids in the program, but they zipped right to it. There hadda be "ONE". That was all ya needed. On returnin' t their department a couple hours later, after screenin kids, tired 'n sweaty, you were met with a, "Sorry we couldn't help you. We went through them all, except for one that was missing." "Ah hah, but you have! Ya haven't been able t find that one file, right?" They replied, "We called on the staff room and the curriculum offices, but we couldn't come up with it." Smilin', "Would ya like t know where it's at?" Gettin' a little inta it, they replied, "And I suppose you know where it's at?" Gigglin', another responded, "Please illuminate us mortals." Noddin' yer head, "You couldn't have contacted all yer personnel that woulda come in contact with that student!" They mildly protested this infringement on their thoroughness. Smilin' right along, "Ya share staff with other schools, don'tcha?" Lookin' confused, "No, I don't think we do. Do we?" Inquirin' of each other. "No. Wait a minute! There is one." Lookin' at 'em, "Then go t her office, 'n it'll be on the top of her desk. She won't be there, as her schedule puts her thirty miles away today. But, if yer curiosity can wait, she'll be back tomorrow." Three of 'em all rushed out at once t her office. Everybody loves a mystery. Suspense in the air. Who can wait till tomorrow? Patience t the winds.
Curiosity will out every time. One minute later they came back with the missin' file, full of even more curiosity, handin' it t ya. Not even lookin' at it, ya waved it off as of no import, "Now, go get that child's test scores fer the last month." This they quickly did, all at once. A bit of intrigue does this, ya know. They returned with a stack of graphed paper, 'n again, "And I suppose you will now tell us exactly what the scores are, 0 Swami?" Shakin' yer head, "There is no need t even look at 'em, as there has been no significant change thus far in the year." Hurriedly they went through the stack. "Dammit! He's right! How could we have missed this one?" Wavin' their perplexity away again, also as of no import, "There's yer answer. You may do with it as ya feel free." More perplexed than ever they were, lookin' at the scores, examinin' 'em very carefully. "No! No!", pointin' over t the file, by itself, on the table. More perusin', schools, grades, 'n finally one of 'em, "Ah hah! Our hats are off!" The year was 1977. There was not much mention of this phenomenon, save in a few avant-garde publications that no respectin' perfessional educator would waste time with 'r be caught dead readin', but something ya had noticed years 'n years ago, "Let's drink twherever yer at Willie, what say? Pick yer rot gut, Stomach, bottoms up, 'n drain 'er dry." To be more exact, the beginnin' date of recorded calamity 'n rapid increase in readin' errors was November 3, 1977. It was a Monday. As t the identity of "her"? The
red stickers that some students must have readily visible on their files -- simple deductions. Some might say it was the moon. What do you think? Remember the pattern ya can count on -- money grubbers, seekers of power, 'n crazies? Each year he had come dressed fer school, the whole year, as a different character: Dracula, Wolfman, Batman, Superman, Spiderman, 'n now, in the sixth grade, he was, in every detail, the famous teenage idol, from black leather jacket t motorcycle boots. Only this year nobody paid him any attention, as they were much too busy capitalizin' on personal interests 'n goals -- math, science, 'n readin'. Terribly demoralizin' fer a would-be, heartthrob idol. His parents also had a little difficulty admittin' the truth t themselves. Whatever it took t defend junior, they'd do; 'n every year they'd create storms up in the community, amongst the gossipmonger crowd. "The school has ruined my child," (more specifically his new teacher, first through fifth). The community was gettin' tired of all this negative squawkin'. So, after Christmas -- it took her that long, t come up with somethin' substantial, hard facts of course, t begin her yearly campaign -- she commenced with her usual purgin' vigil. Her battle cry through the community, "How can children be expected to learn anything with all the chairs in a circle?" Only this time she couldn't rally anybody, squawk as she might. People had gotten tired of it 'n now ducked around corners, popped inta stores, 'r
jus' turned the other way. Unfortunately, the board was stuck with listenin' t her every meetin'. She hadda recruit fellow biddies from outta town, miles 'n miles away. The Superintendent, a positive man (who also had a thrivin' personal products business that did so well because he only picked 'n trained positive personnel t represent the products), came inta class one day, "We have got to stop her. She does nothing but cause problems and frustrations for our teachers and the community. We figured you would be game. The board was very adamant that this not be presented as a lack of confidence on their part. We have given the standardized achievement test already (four months ago) but would like you to give it again -- an alternative, of course. We feel there will be enough substantial growth to shut her up. She's stirring up support in the neighboring towns, and she's gone to the State capital. We do not need the headaches. Feel up to it?" Shruggin' it off, "When?" A bit timidly, "Tomorrow?" Replyin', "Hmmmmmm.. Only tomorrow? Three 'r four days in one?" Answerin', "Yep! We have to have something legal to hand the State officials in a few days. The counselor will hand grade them as soon as you're finished." Next day at 7:30, "Well kiddies, marathon time here. All ya gotta do is yer best, sunup t sundown." The powers on high cut out the science section as there wouldn't possibly be enough time. Interestin' t cut the science out, hey? With two short fifteen minute breaks 'n a half-hour thrown in fer lunch, they put their pencils down at 3:30. Interestin' that, durin' the whole rigidly structured day, there wasn't any whinin' 'r
complainin'. Jus' something the superintendent noticed as he dropped by a few times t see how things were goin' . Kids set up the mats fer the girls twice that day. The next evening another board meetin' was called. The problem parent, along with any of her supporters, didn't show up, even when 'specially invited. Somethin' t think about. Those of you familiar with yer typical hum drum, borin', mechanical, 'n spicedwith-petty-cynicism board meetin', might find this one a bit off the track of yer usuals. A bit? First off, the regular meetin' room was instantly too small -- a half-hour before the board members arrived. They promptly changed it t the library, four times the size, which they likewise had t vacate instantly. Next they moved it t the large Home Economics multipurpose room. The board mumbled amongst themselves, "This isn't going to work either. The gym? It would work but those bleachers are hard to pull out, and we can't get enough chairs in there in time, even if we started an hour later." They apologized fer the lack of room 'n facilities, "Usually the small classroom is more than adequate for the few that show up. This room was not meant for over a couple hundred." After the preliminaries were done away with 'n, "Any new business," almost got outta the chairman's mouth, a rancher stood up, their representative. "Let it go on the records that we are not in the least bit interested in those test scores. We only know that our kids are now extremely interested in math and science and reading and anything to
do with learning. We've never seen them read so many books; none being required, I might add. Their enthusiasm has got us into reading them, too. Wish we could have read so many books and done those experiments in math and science. It's all new and bold and relative to today. We, as modern ranchers, have to keep abreast to survive today." The counselor tried t forcibly blurt out that it might be interestin' t see the scores. The rancher reiterated, "Let me repeat myself and the wishes of this community. We are not interested in those scores. We knew learning was taking place, and, even if those scores were not satisfactory, it still would not make any difference." Again the counselor, sheepishly 'n embarrassed, tried t blurt in, but this time the rancher jus' ignored him 'n went on, "He does not teach to the test, which, I might add, we never did care for at all, but teaches so the kids will be able to grab onto and use things that don't even exist now, but the way things are going, they will be out there for sure. Maybe faster than we think. As it stands right now, our kids will have a chance at holding their own, heads high. No! He has got guts! Saying and doing things that need to be said and done." He stood fer a few seconds t pause before settin' down. Nobody in the crowd said anything, only, as ya looked around, there were hundreds of heads slowly, hardly noticeably, noddin'. He had voiced their opinion exactly. No extra words, theatrics, hysterics, 'r threats. They were that way. Soft spoken, thinkin', 'n ponderin' folks. And, as they were busy, hard-workin' ranchers, 'n tomorrow always came early, they started t leave.
The counselor, realizin' they couldn't give a stick, one way 'r the other, if he even existed, had reverted t goin' through the chairman of the board, who asked 'em, "Please, a moment." The counselor, a Ph.D., apologetically commenced readin' the drivel. There had been four months since the students were last tested, includin' Christmas vacation. Durin' that short time the rise in readin' scores had risen from a minimum two year gain, t over four years (Guess Who?) in all readin' skills; but comprehension was at the top. If readin' was impressive, then math woulda made a believer outta the most resolute skeptic. Though computation abilities showed only a two t three year growth, the hardest of all 'n most difficult, incorporatin' readin' with math in problem solvin', skyrocketed four t six years. When he had finished, the rancher again stood. "I believe I can speak for us all that we are not interested in the least in what is on those papers!" More, hardly discernible nods. They all got up 'n left, exchangin' a word 'r two about calving, seeds, snow drifts, 'r givin' a hand. So, ya see, there are those that want more fer their kids than Goon Ball. If you out there, in the future, felt like grabbin' that Ph.D. 'n shoutin', "Dammit man, listen t those ranchers. Listen t what they're sayin'. Those that can do, create, think, 'n solve problems have a place up here," ferget it; institutional lobotomies, near all of 'em. He'll go 'n associate it t the readin' program, which you'd chucked, 'r the math program, which you'd likewise chucked, 'n laud 'em t the heavens. Course, what was really goin'
on here, at stake, may even be a little rich fer you folks up a hundred years 'r so, likewise. More on that comin' up, but first, another bunch of parents, long ago. Take a looksee fer yerself 'n see if they don't say a thing. See whatcha can make of it. It had been the State high school gymnastics finals. Some real heavy talent here. Two gymnasts gave a slight assist t their teammate up t the still rings. A thousand parents were there watchin' their kids perform. Parents that knew everything about this sport there was t know. All watched the young gymnast hang upside down, motionless, on the rings ready t start his routine. Slowly he pulled himself up through an inverted press rise inta an iron cross stand, and, in that instant, all breathing stopped in that auditorium; nor did it start again until some time later after the young gymnast had finished. Parents found themselves lettin' out that long held breath as they woke up outta a daze. Their kids were good, the best, as were everybody else's here, 'n they knew it. What they had jus' witnessed had been paid for dearly, 'n they knew that, too! Folks recognize quality wherever it shows up. Legendary moves were all the kid used. Their kids were indeed good, but not that good! These veterans of a hundred gym meets had never seen any kid that good! What happened next, as the judges held up their scores, must be considered an entirely individual, personal response in unison 'n in no way related t anybody else's influence. As a spectator of this phenomenon, you were made well aware of that. As the
last judge held up his score card, after the two perfect n one high nine scores of the other judges, the thousand parents erupted inta an instantaneous uproar that verged on riot 'n didn't subside fer near an hour. The parents wouldn't permit the competition t continue until that last judge, who had given the young gymnast the lowest score possible t any competitor, a five, was disqualified 'n chucked. His adamant, smug refusal t even consider another score reached their breakin' point 'n got him physically chased outta the auditorium by angry parents with his last indignant, "Well! Look at him! A hunchback with a clubbed foot! There is nothing perfect about him!" Maybe you can make somethin' outta it. Couldn't all have been the kid's parents squawkin'. Even standin' ovations don't last that long. Maybe they was jus' tryin' t say somethin' -- long ago. Yeah! Maybe that's it. Now, continuin' right along as t what was really goin' on here. Surprise one day. A bunch of Frogs -- students, teachers 'n administrators from over the big pond -- were tourin' the United States, visitin' schools 'n lookin' at what the States was doin in education. They'd hit nearly every guidin' philosophy 'n manner of education goin' on in their year on the road 'n were passin' through the desert 'n saw this small school and, on a lark, stopped t see what a school way out in the boonies had t offer.
They usually only spent a few hours at any given school, but they spent a week in yer class, postponin' their return home. They were very impressed with the hands-on labs but were blown away with the independence of the students. They spent hours absorbed in conversations with the kids, caught up in their calm, self-assurance 'n their responsible, honest approaches t what they felt were important things t them. They fell in love with the tinies who kept poppin' in 'n out of the classroom all day long 'n got t watch 'em put on an exhibition durin' half-time, "with their speed and energy of atomic particles." Their leader 'n his wife were 'specially interested in philosophies, so ya started from basics 'n went from there, beginnin' with yer "non-interference nature 'r imposin' values 'n interests not of their origin," (though ya hadn't mentioned any of this t any of the kids). "This was only a minuscule fragment of the big picture 'n not t be sought after as a whole entity, leadin' t a dead end in itself -- a trap! A scenario that would be completed, piece by piece, though already outlined 'n suspected, as ya excavated bits outta the wreck 'n rubble." Bein' careful t point out, "that the educational system, as any isolated, concrete, steel meshed, 'n disinfected institution that rigorously fortifies itself against the outside reality 'n those seekin' it from within, t maintain its imposin' unnatural existence was never great, good, 'r even fair, only mediocre, as all the ideas that would have made it great, 'r even fair, were always buried 'n forgotten by a system that could only function within the narrow confines of mediocrity, fear, 'n indifference,
'r lose the very purpose fer the existence of its non-reality (not t mention legal certification) as greatness is natural and the institution is not! "In a future time, where desire 'n the will reign omnipotent, any necessary skills on whatever level of intelligence, will be attained by intelligence developin', mental activity labs. Already it was within' the grasp, this intelligence thing, a few minor points t clear up, though perhaps years in the unravelin' The trail is hot!" He responded, "Our school represents the most advanced educational concepts in France, but who would dare think to pursue the dream of a child? In such a pursuit as this, it is indeed evident that we deal not with trifles here. But, you tell us nothing. It is the children who speak. There is no, how you say, tension here. If what we strive for is in Plato, he is here laid to rest by higher concepts than we have yet to encounter, here in your country or in Europe, let alone even considering intelligence labs, harnessing the energy of interests and dreams, communicating from within; with such results as these, you say they are not to be pursued, but only lead to a trap? Mon Dieu! What a glorious trap to fall into. Could you not motivate them to pursue any field of your choosing? And with such dynamic energy, you could rule the world!" "Ahhhhh! That is not possible. Not only is it not permitted 'r possible on yer part, but given the choice, whose dream would you pursue, yers 'r anothers? As t any worlds created 'r ruled, they will be of their own choosin'. Keeper of the gate is all that is permitted -- possible. Keys! Think keys! That's it. You'll get the idea."
He also made inquiries on which direction education should go in the future. Smilin', "It makes no difference what we do. The child will pick his 'r her own path, with 'r without our interference. Train up a child in the way he's supposed t go, 'n when he is old, he'll piss on yer grave. Nope! Best t step outta the way. The sooner the better. Let 'em start pursuin', workin' out their each 'n own personal future. Any other tack leads only t the past; a past they may not be too sold on." His curiosity on how you had developed such a high respect fer the goals 'n dreams of yer students 'n placed such importance upon them, permittin' all this t pass brought this reply, "Then again, we miss the mark. The Keeper of the Gate! Nothin' more. In that they see the importance of pursuin' what they feel is valued. Freedom is not soon forgotten 'r relinquished so quickly." He commented, "Indeed, in here a child can strive for all the greatness that is in them then." Catchin' him, "Not quite. Take Wendy. In here she can only reach the greatness of a dream. That which lies within her, her maximum potential, yet unknown t her, is much greater than the dream. Up the road, a few years, this maximum potential will also be offered t students, if they wish, but first a few things must be unraveled. Alas, fer Wendy, she must be content with the fulfillment of mere dreams 'n not that which lies within' her. Remember, noninterference. Keeper of the Gate. Besides, whatcha see here is not the answer. "Interests are not the path. Somethin' more is at stake here. Interests create only maximum personal success within narrow pursuits 'n not total maximum potential.
What would first appear t be highly motivated, exceptional academic excellence is all accomplished by subliminal trade-offs 'n compromises. Smacks of half-truths 'n crafty Machiavellian cunning 'n unscrupulous deceits. Hardly seems a fit foundation fer truth 'r its seekers t gather 'n hoist their colors, now, is it? No offense intended, Niccolo. Educated, but fer all the wrong reasons. "Mere enthusiastic overflow, from powerful primary motives, accounts fer these 'high scores' in certain basic facts, tossed in t meet social demands. Fortunately, the levels of which bein' so low, they are of no consequent bother. So ya see the delusions of thinkin' that because students do well in gettin' high scores, you must, therefore, be a good instructor. Ya not only deceive yerself, but the students, as well. Both are functionin' on very low levels 'n fer wrong motives. Could have elevated, even higher, those scores, along with practical abilities, but, then again, it wouldn't have been a route of their own choosin'. Besides, what good would it serve t not know the reason why? Even lower than wrong motives. A child that wants t learn needs not the teacher; nor will a flock of teachers prevail upon a child that wishes not t learn. "They want t learn what they want t learn, even though they may not quite know what that is yet. We are all gropin'. There is a much higher plateau comin' inta focus that would turn these students sick with envy. If deception is t be practiced, it is here in the breakin' in slowly, deceitfully, the awareness of this higher plateau t society 'n ourselves. Crafty, cunning, 'n unscrupulous deceits must all be brought t play. To
arrive at the truth we are forced t utilize those skills we are familiar with. The students get the truth. We are left with that which is available, socially acceptable,'n permitted fer our use. This hand must be played t the end. It may be our last. Hopefully so. "Interests 'n dreams must be confronted 'n 'cleared'. Without this clearin', the child can only look forward t a lifelong, frustrated, festerin' existence: fertile grounds fer negative growth, insurin' they degrade inta socially shared 'n acceptable interests which , in time, have a way of slidin', automatically 'n uncontrollably inta socially shared 'n acceptable diseases, haircuts, 'n thought patterns. Mind slide! Ya want this fer yer kid? "Albeit, it is on this personal interest level that the energies are unlocked, the wild frenzies are unleashed, 'n peace 'n calm are attained; so, ya see, this pursuit is not entirely without any redeemin' merit. Can the hope of positive contributions ever be realized without this unlockin'? Course the tappin' of these 'wild frenzies' can only be realized when the child comes face t face with his 'r her maximum potential; otherwise, as is the case in an individual interest, these 'wild frenzies' do the controllin'. Once the child becomes aware of 'n plugs inta their real potential, abilities within, greater dreams can be dreamed 'n goals attained, as one is cleared after another -- all fired by the personal, intense energy within 'n the reality t make 'em so. That's called really walkin' tall through life.
"In any case, 'n this shall be understood whether we wish t accept it 'r not, as it is not given t us t decide upon, if, when n how these energies are t be harnessed, tapped, 'r deployed is a decision t be left entirely in the hands of the child. They know! They see! Their world! Their decision! You realize 'n respect that; otherwise the courtesy may not be returned. Where none is given, should any be expected? May come lookin' fer ya, yer ideas, 'bout the time they've got the power 'n energy 'n yer all stoved up, stuck with the crinklies 'n crow pie. Clear? Don't understand that, better get outta the business now, fast, while ya still have a chance. If memory serves, some don't ferget -with a vengeance! Remember, no games! No toy, this! What is within the child will always be greater than the consummate thought of society. Retain that within the child, 'n perhaps there will be a society. "Without triggerin' thought processes by diversity of ideas 'n concepts, people fall inta the clan, mob, fad, 'n sameness ditch. Very primitive. To seek sameness is t seek extinction. Maximum diversity equals t maximum survival potential, exponential growth; 'n the converse, rigidity t exponential decline. There exists a way! A way of maximum potential fer Wendy; but again, alas, neither she nor society is ready 'r capable of dreamin' such dreams. Face it! Be honest with yerself. Are we even ready fer that? What have ya got that's really worth listenin' to, let alone important? Come on now! Who beats a path t yer door, dream peddler?
"As of right now, all that has been realized, t be of any worth, lies within the soul of a paradigm itself no less, if you've been gettin' the gist of things -- one of two forces, whose very existence rests upon the most strained deductions, entirely alien of course t the educational system. Both forces are absolute, 100% pure 'r nothin'. Right up there with anti-matter. All could be accomplished -- wildest dreams, future worlds, maximum potentials, even truth -- if its mate could be found. As it stands right now, it is a lopsided 'n battered structure on its one pillar, costin' ya dearly t unearth. Cursin', wailin', 'n gnashin' of teeth time if it were brought forth t work its wonders. Though, even now, unsuspectin', even before yer very eyes, its effects are bein' felt, as a few children gaze in awe 'n gently examine 'n cautiously explore this pillar. But, absolute 'n pure RESPECT wobbles without its mate. To find its rightful companion, that completes this creatin', potential power unit, is indeed elusive, but close. A handful of years, no more. "But, then again, nothin' ya see here has any relevance t what it appears. 'As neither Wendy nor society are capable of dreamin' such dreams,' they must be made capable; 'n those that have touched the reality of a dream are the 'voice in the wilderness' And when we are ready fer the truth, the silent n gentle ones will come out. But that is another thing The reason fer everything!! Does that answer any questions ya asked?" Someplace in the trancin' stare, between slowly noddin' 'n shakin' their heads, he came out of it, holdin' his hands up, "Wait! S'il vous plat! S'il vous plat! Please!"
Takin' a few deep breaths, clearin' his thoughts, catchin' up, 'n tryin' t put things inta some kinda sensible order, out came a very carefully phrased, "Where? How? What school? What university? What country? Does anyone know about you? This?"
Replyin', "A few of the kids are gettin' warm." More deep breaths 'n then he continued, "For all practical reasons, you have eliminated the tedious necessity of social evolution and gone straight to walking with the gods, where dreams do come true, for surely that is what is involved here. And you say this is only a fragment, a trap not to fall into? Here is a contract. Come to France and give us your fragments! S'il vous plat!" It was an interestin' proposition. To learn t speak Frog would only be a minor inconvenience, especially fer a biologist. Perhaps one day you'll hop on a bike 'n zip over. Before they left, he quietly 'n seriously inquired, "This Keeper of the Gate, it is at times not so easy, no?" Replyin', "Well, what it lacks in pay, it more than makes up in front-line action, in the trenches." Frogs understand trenches. A couple points in passin'. Had a kid in class, used t beat up his mother 'n attack his father. Wound up pretty tight his spring was. Doctors had him on massive doses of vitamins n medication. Appeared t work, leastwise when he took 'em. It didn't seem t make any difference in the class though --whether he had a problem 'r not, that is. He was on the ball. No dummy, this kid. We stirred up all sorts of gadgets together; almost pulled off makin' solar cells once, but couldn't get the school's pottery kiln over
4,000 Fahrenheit, needin' over 5000 (though we did spend some pretty productive time tryin' t come up with uses fer the copper coated silica we came up with). He mentioned t ya once, "In here I am calm. How can that be?", wavin' his hands up in the air in confusion. "Everybody is doing something different all the time. This is not an organized class. The only thing that is organized here is your mind. You know everything that's going on in here, and that's not just talking about the labs; that's including what's going on in our minds. That's scary! How can that be, I ask myself? You are only an elementary teacher, at least that's what people think. I can't play any games. You know them all. Besides they don't work in here. Everybody ignores you, they are so absorbed in what they are doing. I can play games with my parents and other teachers; counselors and psychiatrists are pushovers. How can you exist in the real world with all the games people play? I don't think you do us any service forcing us to be honest with ourselves. I have to look at myself everyday now. Can you imagine me having to deal with me without the games I even play on myself? Robbery, that's what it is. You have taken our games away. I feel cheated. No more games, only calm. And that's another thing; I don't know if I like it, being calm. It's a new experience. I don't feel secure. I feel naked. I don't take my medicine, and I'm still calm when I come in here. Don't tell my parents that, they'll kill me. Oh, don't worry; I'm not living with them right now. We had another fight."
His parents used t make inquiries, "We know he talks to you. Really talks! He just fights with us. What does he say?" "Sorry 'bout that, ma'am. Really can't help ya on that one. You know how it is, classes overloaded, piles of papers, kids babblin' like fools, 'n teachers goin' bananas; it's a wonder anybody remembers anything. Say! Who are you anyway? Have we met before? You've probably got a kid in class here. Who is he? She? Ahhhh! No clues please. Animal, vegetable, matter? Matter? Matter? Does anything really matter?" Almost got a smile outta them once 'r twice. Get 'em t relax a bit. If they could all laugh a little, at themselves. Another kid, fourth grader, had one of them streaks. Mother was good. Couldn't understand all that was goin' on in his little mind 'n felt terrible every time he'd get a small first grader down 'n keep kickin' him in the face. Besides apologizin', tears, 'n payin' bills, she even felt it was her fault. Wouldnt have the kid in class until next year but she'd stop by now 'n again t chat. In a round about way, ya might say, she learned about things. "Maybe things outta yer control, no matter how good a woman 'n carin' mother ya are." She relaxed at the prospect that maybe she wasn't that guilty after all. We approached it from a whole new way of lookin' at things, as guilt gets worn out 'n used t death; and, after awhile it really doesn't solve anything, if it ever did, fer either party. We talked about everybody bein' screwed up in one way 'r another, jus' natural, "'n them that don't think so, especially themselves; well, they're the ones that really gots
the problems. Them that knows what their particular inclinations are, why, they're way ahead of the game. Got a chance t smooth 'em out. Others go through their whole lives makin' asses of themselves. Where do ya think they got that proverbial bit of wisdom, made a perfect ass of himself? Course ya screw up now 'n again; that jus' proves yer no perfect ass. Yer dealt a hand. It's whatcha got! That's it, baby! Play it as best ya can -mix, match, hold, call, 'r bluff -- no foldin' in this here game. Play it right 'n ya come out ahead." She came in one day, smilin', really feelin' good. She looked ten years younger. Said she'd had a talk a while back with her son. "It was the first quiet talk we've had. He said it was good for me to talk to you. We never mentioned his violence. He's accepted it as his personal "screw up" and has been working on it himself. We can now talk and tell jokes. He changed literally overnight. He's not perfect, thank goodness, but we are a liveable, breathing family. God! If this works!!" Well, that was close t a year ago 'n no violence. He got mad a couple times but jus' went home t cool off. His fifth grade teacher was flexible 'n ya mentioned, "Sure beats the hell outta havin' blood all over the place 'n hysterical parents squallerin' all hours of the night on the phone, doesn't it?!" He got the point. The kid felt proud of what he was accomplishin' hisself. Mother passed on a comment he'd made towards the end of the year, "I can do what all those psychiatrists with all their education cannot do because I know myself better than anybody else in the whole world. They have all got
their own problems they cannot even solve." Superintendent mentioned, jokin', "What in the world has happened to him this year?" The next year in yer class, without talks, medication, psychiatrists, problems r violence, a calm, courteous n thoughtful creature aroseentirely his creation!
CHAPTER 34
There was an openin' on the coast, science three t eight. Ya sent a short note t the superintendent, Barney, lettin' him know you were the person he was lookin' fer 'n t seek no further. Ya drove over. He was waitin'. "You know we had a lot of applicants for this position, highly qualified, but they didn't feel right. We held off offering the position almost until we thought it would be too late. When I read your note I felt good! I felt right! I know that sounds strange, but that's the way it was. I took it to the board that evening, having never seen you, and they approved it on that feeling! I felt you meant business, and so did they." He handed ya the contract as ya stood talkin' in the parkin' lot. Ya signed it. He later said, I have never seen anything like what was about to happen in your classroom in all my career. It was the best decision I have ever made, and all on a gut feeling!
All those neat academic steps, with their highly structured grade 1,2,3... rungs, stand so formidably right, unquestionable, time honored 'n all. Ah hah! But does the cerebral cortex know of these? Was it informed, properly, t here 'n no more? Does it even give a fig about guidelines, appropriate cognizant prittle-prattle? To the winds with proprieties 'n hah hah 'n hah! Is it the rogue, ravishin' the wench on sight? What we covet? Gorging unsatiated? It would be surprisin' if it were otherwise. Methinks we do it a disservice, still it is good t know if there are indeed limits. Wouldn't count on it though, recallin' one of numerous incidents. Back in the good o1' days -- when the earth was still flat 'n the exploits of man were awesome 'n cunning, 'n around the campfires great were the legends 'n tales of yore of the "ruler" -- all was yorish, but they still couldn't keep the little beggars from escapin' Juvie (their creative handiwork 'n combined intelligence). So they came up with bigger 'n better cages, concrete, steel doors, locks, barbed wire, mesh, walls, disinfectant scrubs, thorougher frisks, stronger lights, more peerin' eyes, 'n dildoier Ph.D.'s. Throughout the land of "rulers" they gathered unta themselves craftsmen, behemoths in all that was clever 'n known of clubs, pounders, beaters, gaspers in frenzies, 'n from its foundation t its towers it was sealed with a clang. A very final CLANG! Nor were they merely sorely vexed, pissed unta the heavens, when, upon the second day, two wretched little street urchins, illiterates, rejects of big, all powerful
establishments of "appropriate learnin' procedures," slipped out, with ease, without the aid 'n benefit(?) of guidelines, blueprints, texts, manuals, scopes 'n sequences, 'n obstructional subjectives. Could we surmise that salt was added t the wounds when it was noised abroad that these noxious vermin could neither read nor write. In high officialdom it was, "Foul Play!" "Chicanery!" as they scurried about in blind hysterics, bumpin' inta each other, with pie all over their faces, shriekin', "More! More concrete, steel, wire, mesh, locks, 'n cans of disinfectant," as guards stumbled over each other t be piled higher 'n higher. Nor did their rantin's cease as the licey parasites continued t escape through those barriers that were so just. Methinks we do it a disservice -especially when motivated, a reason t arise from its slumber, want out, t escape. Pheeeew! Fer a while there it was startin' t sound like school. At what stage in moral reasonin' does a third grader cease t be 'r ever did exist as one? A stage must be set where: all classes 'n grades participate in the same contemporary problems; be given identical facilities; teacher(?) involvement be restricted t providin' lab materials 'n necessary identifyin' names (5 minutes on board 'r verbiage, aimin' fer zero lecture growth); 'n individual student observations be the only evaluatin' factor, encouragin' divergencies as they arise. Sameness of response does not equate t validity of thinking, personal involvement 'r observation. A crime is committed, witnessed by a hundred. All tell a different story, see a different aspect 'n
approach from a different lifetime. The closer t maximum diversity of thought, the closer t validity. Of problems, crimes 'n perpetrations, the world lacked not the diversity; should it therefore fall short of solutions, insights 'n approaches? Do we dare chance t remain Alchemists? Nuclear Physicists? To even linger? There is perhaps another path? Could we even consider a hundred? Perhaps a few incidents here will further confuse, muddle 'n lead ya astray. Instead of their usual enthusiasm fer labs that day, they all sat very quietly; then Mary, actin' as their spokesman, stood up. They'd picked about the quietest 'n meekest critter they had amongst 'em, an excellent student of few words. They had ya down pat. The less verbiage, the more you'd listen. Right t the point she was. "How do you do it? That is what we want to know! You do not use any notes or lesson plans or texts or workbooks and don't lecture or give homework , yet anything any of us has ever asked you personally -- about parts or chemicals or names or systems in any field of science or ANYTHING, as you wander around the laboratory to see how each of us is doing -gets an immediate answer. We compare notes sometimes on these within ourselves, and our parents go over what we have observed. They are really interested, too! In one class, any class, you give more factual information out than all of our other teachers, put together, do in a week, but you give it individually. Everything they lecture to us they say is very important, and it is all going to be on the tests; but all the stuff you give us
really is important because it helps us to observe things better, individually -- Wow! Does it work! We remember it all, individually. It's all crazy! Yet we all learn something different that is personally important to us. I do not know if you understand what we are trying to say. Oh, I do too! You know it before we ask it. We have accepted that. We do not understand it, but we have accepted it. But what we really need to know is how you remember everything, even stuff that does not exist yet. We have to catch ourselves, or we start talking in the future like it is today. Our history teacher gives us so much homework that he ruins our weekends; and everybody knows that in the dairy business it's 3:30 to 5:30 every morning and evening, with school in the middle. That only leaves the weekends for ourselves. This time he has given us so much that we cannot possibly do it all; The Bill of Rights and amendments and The Constitution. He was mad at Jimmy for messing around in class and got even madder when we asked him why he gave all of us extra work for the weekend." Very softly, "Mary. Japanese Rock Crab?" She quickly, "Cancer producta" "Your observations?" "Something in the niche he is now occupying, he is an exotic, is disrupting his molting cycle." "How did you deduce that, Sweetie?" Quickly, "The balanus, the barnacles, stuck to his carapace were too old." "Roger. Your deductions." "Well, I got disruption, only a different way. One of the Cancer productas I observed, they do not all seem to be affected by it, had advanced
cases of coral and sponge colonies parasitizing it and eating right through the carapace and creating openings .25 to .5 of a centimeter in diameter. Which means a percentage will never reach any desired size for commercial use. It will consume but not be consumed, by us that is, its predator. Too small to bother with. Not an asset." "Bev?" "The carapaces are much thicker on Cancer producta than Cancer magister. Carapace growth may be stimulated by attacking organisms. Energy necessary for defense may override hormones that trigger molting. It could cause the calcium in the developing soft shell underneath to be depleted or the soft shell could even fuse with the older, outer carapace. Maybe this would fool the system into thinking a molt had occurred. Defense would be first though. Anyway, the sponges were faster than calcium growth. The reaction to the attack was not fast enough. A no win game. A lot of energy is wasted. Bet you didn't think of that, Roger!" Lots of laughs in the class. "Richard?" "Pugettia producta has to purposely try to stick algae and stuff on his carapace for camouflage. This seems to be very selective as to what will be accepted by its carapace. Cancer producta on the other hand, in this new niche, where there is a lot of food, has no immunity or natural protection or resistance against all the new parasites also found here." Applause. "Mary. You have yer specimen. Please observe it." At first, fer a slight few seconds, she looked perplexed, but was soon engrossed in what lay before her, sittin'
still 'n thinkin'. Other students were already doin' likewise. A minute later Mary sucked in a gasp, hand over her mouth, "No! It can't be! He's a teacher." "Well, Mary, now ya see why whatcha ask may not be whatcha really want. Right, Jimmy?" He nodded grimly. Mary was so depressed lookin'. "'Sides, Sweetie, if he ever figured out how ya got it, he'd be yellin' collusion, conspiracy, traitors in our midst." She nodded. Their history teacher was an "excessively" rigid, religious disciplinarian; 'n makin' it worse he'd been a D.I., Drill Instructor, in the Marines. Put those together if ya will. A fanatical, religious lieutenant lookin' fer evil turds. The pride of the school system. She said no more, but the next day there she was again. "We talked it over and no one will say where we got it. Please?! The weekends are our only time. We will be responsible for anything that happens." Between, "You don't really know what yer gettin' inta," and, "Please? Please?" and, "To know may only be the beginnin' of sorrow." She kept it up, almost cryin' fer desperation. Lookin' slowly around at the kids, "The class does indeed play dirty pool. There are those fer whom respect fer themselves demands the respect of others." There was a sigh of relief and an ecstatic smile on Mary's face. Continuin' right along. "We have three periods before the weekend. A few basic rudiments perhaps. Care must be taken that we delve not too deeply inta a world devised by those denied
books, texts, instructors, 'r even paper 'n pencils, 'n put in a situation where their influence could not be felt by others, possessin' only their minds t dabble with. You will rue this day 'n be sorely tested; but, isn't that what it's all about? To the front lines then." Three days. Three classes. Kids settin' spellbound, furiously not missin' anything: notes, things between lines. Some by Friday mornin' had already given some of the stuff a try 'n were already finished. One student, "Why didn't anybody tell us this before? All those weekends and Friday nights lost. Jeeeez!" Lookin' perplexed at him, "Do we so soon ferget?" He, grimly, "Yeah!" Monday mornin' they took the test. True t the usual procedures 'n threats, it verged on ridiculous: picky, fine points from the Constitution, Rights, 'n amendments. A lawyer's headache! Eighth graders? Come on now! Who needs this kinda hasslin'? But the kids said they zipped right through it 'n knew the answers cold! No mistakin' that. What happened the next few days was disgustin', revealin' the low opinions of the abilities 'n potential of students that were held by some members of the teachin' staff 'n all but one parent. You hang in there, Mama. You ain't alone. There's two of us. With the lowest score bein' an unheard of 87% ('n that by Jimmy who hadn't got above a "D" the whole year) 'n the rest above 90%, don'tcha suspect that one of
suspectin' suspects might suspect "evil doin's"? t say the least. The hour had at last arrived fer the righteous t be vindicated upon the dark evil that ceaselessly roams the earth. Before noon all were notified that they had failed the test, 'n they were all up t be suspended from school fer cheatin'. Yep! That's what we like t see -- swift judgement, stab, whack, whack, bleed! He instantly called each parent, notifying them of their child's pending suspension from school for being "caught" cheating on a test. Teachers' room, in the halls, parents' groups, he couldn't acclaim the evil in the kids loud enough. "Yes. It is like I have always suspected. They cheat! They all cheat! They are all a bunch of cheaters! Our whole system is that way. I have caught them red-handed. When I find out who stole the answer sheet and then returned it, that person will be severely, I say severely, reprimanded." He had not only called up every parent t notify 'em of the threat of suspension but had likewise informed 'em, each 'n every one, that he had already suspected their child all along of cheating. A few parents feebly protested, "But what if he did study real hard and learned all the material?" Only t be confronted, "It is not possible that he could get that good overnight. This was a much harder test, and he has barely passed easier tests." Surprisingly t most, the eighth graders weren't the least in the dumps, though it was important t them.
Things got hot on the phone lines. Even if a kid's a cheat 'n his folks know, they don't take lightly t a lotta hoopla 'n fan fare stringin' the family's laundry up in the public square. A few thorns in the history teacher's side were the astonishin' calm of the kids, 'n the steadfastness of Mary's mother, "She will not cheat!" He even got her cryin', "We know she has cheated and, if she denies that, then she is lying to you." The week passed 'n no one said anything. At least their word was good, as you'd never doubted. Hey! That ain't half bad! "A man's word!" Nice ring t it! Mary's mother was unmoved, 'n she wasn't foolin' herself either. She wasn't steadfast because of what the community might think -- savin' face, defendin' somethin' that wasn't there. Mary came up t you 'n was very concerned about how far her mother would go 'n so had mentioned it casually as a memory skill, "to help you learn better," that she 'n the other students had come across 'n were tryin' Her mother didn't say anything but challenged the history teacher t give 'em a new 'n different re-test. He was very excusive 'n hesitant. She stated, "You wish to have the whole eighth grade expelled. You have accused them all! Do you not think that they should at least have a chance to defend themselves? This is a democracy. We do have a Constitution and a Bill of Rights, or maybe you have inserted an amendment that they do not apply to students?" Under this pressure ('n he knew she wouldn't back down; she was bein' polite now), he consented.
The test was even pickier, harder 'n had more questions, 'n the students weren't given any notice of the re-test until they walked inta the class. Things sure got quiet all of a sudden round there after that re-test. No more haranguin' fer the cause of justice in the teachers' room 'r hallways. No more debate on how they got inta his house on the weekend, when he was preparin' the test, 'n stole it 'n then returned it unnoticed; nor was there the self-acclaim sought of a job well done, when the lowest score was now 91%, improvements all round. Barney had some suspicions 'n dropped by. He figured that anything this boggling would have had to come out of your room somehow. "Please, whatever you did, if you did indeed do it, please do not do it again. The world is not ready for you in the sciences yet. History? Government? God!!" Mary came up the next day 'n softly mentioned, "He really did not want us to learn!" Replyin', "Ya got it straight from the lab dish, Sweetie!" Barney was retirin' 'n he said he wanted t put somethin' down in black and white, make a statement. Fer the sake of brevity, concise it a bit. "His rapport with pupils is of high order, based on his ability to excite curiosity and fire intrinsic motivation from the youngest to the oldest pupil...he developed new dimensions for the science program... an excited and curious 'learner among learners.' The depth and breadth of learning experiences...must be labeled outstanding as I have observed the
man and the teacher from my background of forty years experience at all levels of education." He said, "This probably will not affect you or make any difference one way or the other. The world may not be ready for these new dimensions in learning, but that does not seem to bother you in the least, either. Well. Good luck!" The amiable old janitor retired, too, 'n his replacement, an old stauncher in the community, rounded out the pattern, save for this bein' a pretty honest system, 'sides a board member, oil distributor, gougin' the locals 'n someone else tryin' t unload some "swampland" on the school district. The old stauncher wasn't what you'd call very hot on modern science 'n technology 'n the way the world was goin' these days. One weekend, t organize the storeroom 'n maybe see what things weren't bein' used, he heaped most of it all on a big bonfire 'n up it went. Most science materials! Before ya could salvage a few things he'd burnt not only storeroom stuff but classroom materials as well, includin' a near completed book of drawings of marine invertebrates you'd been puttin' together. Interestin'! "We didn't have these fangled science gadgets when I was a kid, and we did all right. Foolishness! A waste of time. Science has got us in a mess." Cute, huh? The new administrator, Carl, was OK. Labs went right along. Near half way through the year, he hadda go t the state capital on some business, no big deal. Guess again! A kinda repeat comin' up!
The next mornin' first period was already busy hand faceting minerals such as pumice, obsidian, magnetite, kaolin, 'n feldspars when they came in the parkin' lot, sirens blarin': State Police, County Fire Marshall, State 'n County Health officials, 'n other officials showed up a few minutes later. The janitor was wavin' 'em all t follow him. (Sounds familiar?) "It's in there! God! It's the biggest mess you've ever seen! He's going to blow us all up! Jesus, nobody is safe. We've got to think of our kids. It's a communist plot!" So they all came troopin' inta the big lab. Hysterically he was draggin' 'em around by the arms pointin' t the rows of gallon fermentin' jugs, ploppin' out bubbles of Carbon dioxide as they were convertin' all manner of carbohydrates inta alcohol t later be distilled. The officials appeared perplexed 'n confused as they examined the purported damning evidence. Then, with renewed vigor, he carted 'em over t the small copper coil attached t a 2000 ml Erlymeyer flask restin' on a hotplate. "There, there! Didn't I tell you." Pointin' 'n wavin' with smug satisfaction, "As I told you over the phone, we could catch him in the act! Christ Jesus, the whole school is going to blow up!" The officials started lookin' at each other, rollin' their eyes, wonderin' what this guy was all about. The students, a third grade class, seizin' the moment, took the officials by the hands t show 'em everything that was goin' on. Enthusiastic kids are that way, proud of
their own discoveries. All around the room different seminars were goin' on, all at the same time. The kids explained to the officials that everything was put to use in the class and that they were constantly on the prowl looking for problems to solve, the bigger and harder the better. World problems were their favorites. Explaining to them that the Arab oil embargo was responsible for all these fermenters converting grass, weeds, silage, and garbage into low grade alcohol, some using yeast and others seed enzymes found in cow pies -- a couple weeks later to be distilled into 90% ethanol, which they had them taste on their finger and then do a flame test in a petri dish. There were some giggles by the kids and chuckles and smiles from the officials, the kids explaining that the stuff made with the excess fruit syrup from the U.S. Government canned fruits was a high priority. A jug of this stuff, 180 proof, would put you in good graces with the old man, no matter what you did last Friday night or whenever. Apricot and peach, distilled real slow and careful-like, with a connoisseur's touch, smack, smack! Folks around would smile, all over, "Smooth as silk, laced with dynamite." Get real philosophical about the oil embargo, too. Most of the ethanol produced found its way into motors though, leastwise the lesser known brands, O1' Garbage Pail or Sippin' Silage or Thunder Root. The kids were honest scientists, showing all their findings.
Another group of kids had some officials over to one side explaining that, due to high building costs and scarcer wood products, they were tackling alternate material: bricks, weeds, sticks, straw, plastics, foam, and sawdust, each one mixed with different percentages of cement and field tested for freezing, water retention, insect resistance, structural strength, and fire resistance. Some were near Styrofoam and sawdust in "R" factors of heat retention and near clay in "R" factors in heat resistance they could not be burned, even when soaked in gasoline or torched. Some could hardly be broken; hammered like hell them little rug rats did. They could be easily sawn, weighed only one-tenth to one-half as much as cement or regular brick and could be manufactured by an everyday housewife, not skilled in construction or carpentry. The shell and roof of a one to two bedroom house could probably be made for around $400 to $600 for materials (back here in the late '70's), having an "R" factor of heat retention around 40. The Fire Chief was absorbed talking to small eight year old Sandy, "This is certainly fascinating, young lady. It won't burn, you say?" "No, sir! Each little piece of sawdust is covered with a fine coat of cement, prohibiting oxidation." "Hey, Bill," calling to the Fire Marshall over in another group, "Did you see these?" He replied, "Sure did. We have to tell the County Building Commission about these. This is something worth looking into. I wish my kid was in here."
Some kids and an official in another group were gathered around one of the huge saltwater aquarium handling tanks, arms up to their elbows pointing to the tiny featherlike cirri food gathering legs on the barnacles, mentioning how they were tackling the problem of barnacles on the hulls of boats. Kim was explaining, "You have to learn about the barnacle. The world has tried to kill him for centuries, but he is still here. Maybe the problem of the barnacle could be solved if we can find out what problems the barnacle has. Maybe he has good things. Look how fast his feathery cirriped move, combing the water for plankton. He uses lots of energy but does not get much food. That could mean he is inefficient, or he can survive without much food being available. He does it unconsciously. That means long ago that those that could do this survived. Do you have an idea of your own about the barnacle?" talking while her arm moved through the water pointing to the barnacles attached to some of the many species of crabs scurrying about -- crabs they had all studied independently in large, deep trays, at their own lab station. She picked up a large Cancer magister, over fifteen centimeters, having to use both hands, and explained her idea why there were only tiny barnacles on the carapace. Betsy went over to her lab box and showed him a simple paper device she had created to calculate the pressure per square inch of chelaped (pincher) force, complete
with her own homemade math scale. She had tested all the crabs. She was the chelaped authority. Soberly she warned the official which of the species were the real nasties. After a half hour of being guided round by the unlimited energy and enthusiasm of what they bewilderingly referred to, every so often, "Third graders?" often repeating themselves, they apologized for the disruption and thanked the kids for the very special tour. "Third graders?" On their way out in the parking lot, they were talking and laughing amongst themselves, "Boy! Won't the Arabs be surprised?" They waved off the janitor's question of, "Hey, ain't you guys going to do anything?", by a "Yeh! See if I can send my son down here!" This janitor was a real pain fer everybody. He was right down there with them church biddies lookin' fer what wasn't there, tryin' t wish it inta bein', hopin' fer the worst in everything. He had lived here 'n been around so long, he figured that made everything he thought 'n said somehow fulla wisdom. Well, we had turds in the classroom that were fossilized, 'n their millions of years sure had this guy beat by a long shot, but the kids still knew where they originally came from. Oh, remember the "swampland"? This is the guy! Science deals with phenomena of all kinds. Gotta give everything a chance t stand up fer itself, even the unknown, unfamiliar -- things we may have 'n not be aware
of, unused things. There was never any question of anything we delved inta but what the students wouldn't apply themselves with the utmost sobriety. If things have a chance, it will only be if approached positively. It was with this in mind that we looked inta ESP. One must at least entertain the notion that flight is possible, 'r will be one day. Absurd as it may sound. But token efforts at open-mindedness must be displayed. The facade of a good scientist 'n all. You would send 'n they would receive. Since we didn't know who could send 'r receive, if at all, the approach was t see if anything was possible. Merely mentally transmittin' ten times a choice of two might fall inta certain laws of chance, so the stakes were upped t three choices -- one, two, 'n three. The students would be notified when the number was set in yer mind by, "Now." Each tried different mind sets 'n thought patterns, but results remained the same, chance; fer most that was. Three seemed t be the average, a very tight average, fer most. Above five was unheard of, fer most. After a couple tries, it became evident that this wasn't a thing that everybody had immediate access to -- at least not yet, not like bacteria. The most timid girl in the class, Laura, hadn't mentioned her score the first time. The next time around, her friend saw her answers. First time was seven. Second time was eight. She embarrassingly confided she hadn't been trying anything special. She jus' put down what came t her. The next day she got nine. Quickly ya asked her t write the
number of the error on a slip of paper 'n you recorded the number you had waivered on 'n accidently changed. We handed each other our folded papers. Number seven was on both of 'em. Wheeew! What do ya do, say? To a rational way of lookin' at things, everything was ruled out. Mathematically, within our present number system of chance, it was outta the question. Something was there! At least fer one out of those thirty students, it was there. Laura still remained the very shy kid, but still right up there with bacteria -- who we may inadvertently work for, takin 'em wherever we go. Time t move on 'n ferret out a few more pieces of this puzzle. Carl jotted this down t help ya on yer way. "...his students were highly motivated. His class was so interesting, I had students in Jr. High request additional time in his class. In my thirtyone years of education, this is the most superior science program that I had."
CHAPTER 35
Fer the most part as usual, indifference reigned amongst the staff; but there was one gal, had herself some sand, she did! Even knew how t read n did it with a passion. Also had herself a small child with a good heart and a gentle love of learnin. Took em along with ya through the deserts, mountains, jungles, oceans, 'n lots of critter pie 'n Chinese, Hindu, Indonesian, Korean, 'n Indian ways of doin' things; 'n yea, though ya walked through the valley of the shadow of death, hey, there she was, by yer side, no questions asked. And so the next handful of years passed until, "She spoke five languages..." Well, not really, but close 'cause if you've noticed, this is really where we came in at, this tale that is. Appears we have arrived, but without all our baggage the Big Picture! Oh my! What a predicament. To come t the end, but not be finished. Dear Me! And hardly understandin' how you arrived here, at that. Something must be done.
Yes, yes! That's it! Writers license! Ahhh hah! The quest continues. The hunt. The thrill of the chase is in the air! Zounds 'n gadzooks! Release the hounds! Back t another Central American, third world country, teachin' in a company owned private school. The young, Stateside, single, female teachers soon found out that it wasnt their academic prowess fer which they were hired but fer their bodies t service the companys administrative staff in this very isolated area. They seemed t adjust quite well t this new status. The Spanish n Carib men are quite handsome. The fat, American executives tended towards blubbery, jowly, bulldogy, pasty pigs. The mate thought it was disgustin exploitation. exploited. But, some dont really mind bein
The kids had become Westernized 'n so the school's Stateside adopted
texts, programs, 'n standards of academic achievement were not acceptable by the local government, fallin' quite short. Yer calculations put them a minimum of three years behind the locals in jus' textbook materials alone. The rich kids, through the affluence of their parents, had become TV soap freaks 'n couch potatoes, subsistin' on junk food diets. Unfortunately, the parents 'n administration had succumbed t the whimperin' 'n whinin' of their utterly spoiled, snotty children 'n had obediently been replacin' math text after math text fer increasingly easier 'n lower level ones. To make another short story long, upon lookin' inta the matter, the whole genre, that appeared t emanate of spoon fed, pablum pukin',
barf babies, had only been instigated by a few parents 'n students; the others were eager t learn but had been drug down 'n held back by these few; so we went t hands-on labs 'n self-guided math. By mid-year these knowledge seekers had got the hang of labs 'n were a good four years above the materials presented in the texts. These new, hot-offthe-Stateside-press texts literally served no purpose, functionless -- even as reference books fer applied practices. Browsin' through the o1' storeroom put things in perspective. There were the ancient math texts, in a box, buried 'n fergotten, more'n a half century old. A quick perusal! These were the ones the local kids were usin' in the local public schools, only they'd been translated inta Spanish. Math is math. Things fell inta place, knowin' a bit of third world facilities. More'n a half century ago, some missionaries had started schools down here. Unknowingly they set the stage fer a time capsule of what life 'n schools were like way back when in the States. The local government, lackin' funds t have more'n one math text series translated, had adopted that particular series as a national guideline; 'n not bein' affluent enough t keep up with the "Norte Americanos", continually re-adoptin' new ('n academically lower) texts, had failed t fall inta the dangerous precedent of diminishin' returns, thus lockin' themselves inta a part of America's great academic past.
On mentionin' that these were the needed texts t upgrade these kids t local standards, the administrator got very nervous. Instantly the old books disappeared. She'd fallen prey t the couple influential, bleedin' hearts who had squallered, "Pobrecitos." Who gives a fig, anyway? Who puts any store in texts? The kids that wanted t learn 'n go places rose two t three years, by C.A.T. tests, when they went t the States fer high school The chance came, 'n they took it 'n flew. No "Pobrecitos" ever made it very high on the evolutionary ladder -- passed the standardized tests though. A point in passin': Down here 'n everywhere else in the world you'd been, the locals always wanted America's older productions over the newer ones in near everything. Jus' somethin' t mention in passin'. A problem with solar energy was that those that devised parabolas were not only knowledgeable of math 'n sun movements, but educated 'n skilled in a scientific determination; whereas those that hadda use 'em -- the poor of India, Africa, 'r wherever - weren't. If a parabola is made t work only under the best of conditions, by highly trained engineers, free of cultural taboos, ya can guess what's gonna happen when a local tries t figure it out in the real, everyday world of glare, clouds, constantly, frustratin' adjustments, accidents, technical illiteracy, 'n rigid social customs. The solution was merely t stir one up that would function without bein' effected by clouds 'n illiteracy. The first obstacle, minor though it was, was t command the sun t
stand still, so that no adjustment would be necessary. Put the food on 'n ferget it, same spot each day, any hour, focal point right there. Now, that may 'r may not be as easy as it sounds t all you armchair engineers out there, wavin' it off as, "Kid's stuff"; course, might be others'd say, "Why, that's impossible, you fool!" That's somethin', fer you folks out there t work out amongst yerselves. Right now, you was runnin' short of problems. A problem's a problem, 'n ya can't let one pass ya by; 'sides this looked like a good'n. Possible 'r impossible was of no concernin' interest. After more'n a few notebooks 'n walls fulla drawins 'n stacks of model parabolas all over tables, chairs, bed, 'n wherever, yer juices was flowin' good. More scribblin', bendin', 'n poundin', 'n ya could taste it in yer teeth. Then in a two week straight frenzy of determined fury of angles, ratios, 'n twistin' mathematics t serve, ya had it. Within' three months you'd stirred up three more. None required adjustment of any kind, 'n the focal point was on the food at all times, fer northern, southern n equatorial zones. One concentrated both direct 'n diffuse radiation. Had more fun with that design. After goin' inta the bathroom t take a leak, with this model in yer hand 'n the electricity out, as usual, ya noticed, while standin' in the dark, probably peein' on the wall, a glow of a faint focal point. No place ya could put it, day 'r night, upside down, but what it wouldn't gather a focal point. Because of the mathematical concepts behind this model 'n the strange rod of light thatcha could touch 'n play with, it opened up the possibilities of utilizin' stellar reflection, likewise. The ratio of night efficiency would be around five percent of
daytime, more 'r less. Still, a great toy fer yer mind 'n only costin' two years. So, ya see, possible 'r impossible is of relatively little concern.
CHAPTER 36
Gotta back up here a bit t Asia, t bring you folks up t date on an International Perspective you'd been pursuin', of top kids round the world. With over 70 countries represented, what kinda potential was achieved in such a diversity, difficult t find in any other school system in any country, not only in subject matter but of thought? How does diversity, though controlled, effect the potential of the student? Avenues were devised t ferret out various aspects of potential: missed, unknown, buried, misguided, 'n realized. Years of delvin' inta individual world systems revealed that no single system could achieve levels of individual potential realization as an international, diversified 'n integrated system. Again, though controlled, greater general diversity equated t greater general achievement. The predominatin' concept was not forcin' all inta one system, but gettin' the best outta all the diversity of thought. It was beginnin' t look like "mono" anything was a dead-end road -- species-wise!
To those in the forefront of world affairs 'n education, who'd drop by after their kids went home, this idea of maximum individual potential was not t be passed off as a pipe dream. They knew, up the road, it was comin' -- of necessity! Yer, "If we cannot change the system fer one child, what stops us from changin' it fer all the children then?" "Our children are right. You must come to our country." Sweden, Denmark, Korea, The Netherlands, 'n the list goes on 'n on 'n on. Some want more fer their kids -all that is possible! Here, in this settin', few adults can function, let alone accept this level of diversity. Hard t get teachers. Kids growin' up within it accept it, while those newly arrived find it difficult t impossible. See if ya can follow this. Let us propose a situation, hypothetical, that is not in the leastwise hypothetical. Let us suppose, that in yer community, whatever community that may be -- East, West, down South, up North -- that an announcement is broadcast that yer t be visited by a well-traveled, multilingual, personal observer of numerous revolutions, coups, fanatical hostilities, 'n famines, havin' grown up 'n lived in a half dozen of these situations round the world, don'tcha think it'd be a good chance t get another viewpoint on world affairs? Sure ya would! Lots of folks'd figure the same. Picture the auditorium filled up 'n the look on yer face when out on the stage walks a twelve year old child, needin' a box t stand on t help her see over the podium. Ya say, "But she's only a child. What
can she know?"
At what stage are ya automatically not a child anymore?
What
viewpoint r political affiliation must be adhered to? Here, let's make it more personal. Be honest with ourselves, whatever our age, twenty t eighty. Make the public announcement that you are comin' t town. List yer assets, experiences, travels, 'n whatcha have t offer. See who shows up. Course, once up at the podium, you'll be expected t pull it off in, say, four 'r five languages, minimum. Clear up points. Gettin' the idea? Who is the child 'n who is the adult? A newly arrived foreign dignity's wife automatically stepped inta her back home role: official great bwana sahib amongst us peasants, flauntin' opulence 'n allowin' audiences t grovel in her presence. The school allowed one squawk outta a parent, if it was valid. If not, no one would listen t her again. So, with tight limits set upon her cackling, she was relegated t wander about indignantly, in a huff, squawkin' with no one listenin'. Her kid was spoiled rotten' n worthless, right up there with the newly arrived, Stateside oil rigger kids, who'd been extollin' their talents 'n exploits by plasterin' 'n insultin' kids of different colors 'n races; stuffin' toilet paper rolls down toilets 'n decoratin' walls with the used product; rippin' sinks out; peein' 'n crappin' on floors 'n in sinks; breakin' windows 'n mirrors; smearin' shit on handrails; 'n spreadin' acid on tables 'n chairs. All highly academic skills learned in American schools. Unfortunately the rest
of the student body ignored their blowhard braggin's, leadin' the school t bring in special psychologists t deal with their feelin's of rejection. Course, she could only see the greatness of herself in him. Sittin' across the lab table from her, "OK lady! Ya think he's worth so much? Try sellin' him! Truth is -- be honest with yerself, ya know it, too -- be lucky t give him away t a white slaver. Throwin' him out in the streets'd straighten him up quick, that is, if ya figured he's worth salvagin'. He'd try that insultin' stuff 'n makin' fun of those street Chinese, Indian, 'n Indonesian kids, if he survived, once'd do the trick. That's yer best bet though, ma'am; chuck him 'n see what turns up on yer doorstep twenty years up the road. That is, if ya really wanna know what he's made of 'r even worth squabblin' over." She left in a lather of decreasin' splendor. Four months later,she came in after school one day, modestly attired in both clothes 'n mind. She started talkin' with a blank stare. She'd seen how these other kids from round the world studied hard, were very respectful t their parents, helped round the house without bein' asked, spent spare moments readin', playin' musical instruments, helpin' others n doin' family things. The real close family life got t her. You could tell. Still detached, she continued, "Right now, without any questions asked, I would trade my son for any one of these other students -- no matter what color or nationality." She was dead serious. She continued, "The fear I have is that I would also
change him into one like I have already created." More dead serious. She said no more. Tried t smile feebly, got up 'n slowly walked out. Somethin' t think about. Lots t think about! Anybody still out there? Pretty silent! Maybe everybody jus' packed it in 'n went home? Anyway, likely what happened here, t these two, that is. Diversity of thought creates higher thought. Not fer everybody, this. Pass this one by 'n see whatcha come up with. Been over forty years since the end of World War Two, thirty for the Korean war 'n over a decade since the end of the Vietnam conflict , so the big Stateside high school teenager who ran around that corner in the hallway, playin', couldn'ta been packin' any more war experiences than parental influence, as he knocked inta 'n sent a Korean student, along with his books 'n glasses, sprawlin' on the floor, dazed. The Korean, recoverin' his senses as best he could without the use of his glasses (that'd got broken), was tryin' t pick up his books, while at the same time apologizin' t the American. He was met in the middle of an, "I am very sorry..." by a fist in the face accompanied by, "Why you fuckin' gook! Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?" Some of the other students stopped him from further attackin' the apologetic Korean student. Now, this incident has a happy ending, strange as it may seem possible. In the office, the high school student was met by an American administrator, who, gettin' the jist of what had happened, tossed the kid outta school over his protests, "But he's just a
fuckin', slant-eyed gook." To get tossed outta school here had a few more hitches in it than Stateside. Yer family, as in a case such as this, got sent home also; which meant that yer father 'r mother lost their very, very, high payin' overseas job. Many American businesses with overseas branches were doin' their damndest t show the world that we could live in peace 'n cooperate, heal the wounds. They catches up with ya, ya know, them prejudices ya say ya ain't got; right times comes, they'll surface, maybe through yer kid. Who knows? It's a small world, 'n with time probably bein' nothin' more'n a relative spatial dysfunction, they might even pop up right around the corner, in the middle of yer peak career? Oh, that happy endin'? Got rid of the American, 'n they all lived happily every after. Copin' with higher thought, like livin' in peace with the rest of the good folk of this world, appears t be more'n some can handle. What with all the Third World representatives gatherin' over here, it was becomin' evident that teachin' can teach someone t enter the twenty-first century in a year, but t be civilized takes generations. Way it was lookin' from this new crop comin' over, America needed the generations 'n the Third World needed only the year. Lately, teachers was hopin' any new kids comin' in weren't Stateside, 'r worse yet, wind up in their class.
You'd come up with yer first case of plagiarism: a newly arrived American 'n a U.K. kid. "You two wanna go through yer notes 'n come up with a more individual approach by tomorrow, 'r do we pass these two identical papers on t yer parents?" "We will have them tomorrow! Thank you, sir," replied the U.K. kid. Shortly after, ya picked up the whispered, "But it works all the time in the States." Cute. The consequences fer the U.K. kid woulda been quite grave; fer the American, nothin' -- parents 'n counselors flockin' t his rescue. Tough fer some, adjustin' t carryin' yer own weight 'n expectin' it of others. Adjustments t games ya don't gotta play t traps ya don't gotta fall inta hit ya every time ya turn around till yer well adjusted, if ya survive. Enter Fabio, an eighth grade weasel, but an amiable, Italian weasel, accompanyin' the newly arrived Stateside counselor gal t his rescue, who presented ya with an amusin' prevarication involvin' "misunderstandings" of lab 'n paper requirements. Lookin' at him, he started smilin' 'n squirmin' uncomfortably, seein' it wasn't gonna work. Ya ever met a forked-tongued, two-faced, lazy polecat Fabio? After a long, silent, piercin pause, ya continued,
"Look in the mirror. Face up t it. Not gonna get anyplace until yer honest with yerself. No more games!" Fabio responded, sheepishly grinnin', "Yes, Sir." The female counselor, whose kid was a very deceptive, sneaky problem maker in all his classes -- lots of office time -- but apparently all niceties at home, shit her
pants with a wild, horror struck look, "How can you, dare you, address a child in that manner?" Fabio cooled her down 'n contritely admitted the whole situation was completely fabricated, lettin' her know, "I just got too lazy and had to make up the story to cover myself." The counselor asked how you could have been so sure 'n exact. Replyin', "Ask Fabio!" She did, later on in her office, 'n approached ya the next day. "Fabio told me that you were entirely different from any of the other instructors he had ever had in the five countries he had been to school. He said you talked to what they were thinking as you constantly walked around the lab. And also, that he would not have been able to get away with a stunt like this in his own country, but here it was very tempting because the new American counselors were so gullible," blushin' even more, "and then he told me to learn my trade by sitting in your labs and observing you. I could not believe he was telling me these things. I am a counselor, and I'm not accustomed to kids talking so freely and truthfully with me. And now, here I am confessing to you. You looked at him, and he told the truth. How did you do it?" She came in numerous times 'n later mentioned, "You get much different responses from kids. Very truthful, unihibited, and highly academic, without the use of lecturing or even asking questions. I wish I could get that quality of responses from the
kids that come to me. Now, answer my question! How do you do it?" Smilin', "Mirrors, my little chickadee. All done with mirrors!" It is not given t all t suffer! The conflicts 'n uncertainties of adjustment inta diversity are denied 'em. Stanley had spent his whole life tryin' t adjust t Stateside systems that rejected him, teachers passin' him off as, "Not interested in learning!" with all the appropriate slurs that that entails. Quiet, thinkin', 'n polite, Stanley, Don, does it really matter what we call them? You respected their decisions t remain hidden, fer now. Shame we couldn't have met up the road a piece. Overseas, International testin' 'n personnel were on the lookout fer just such as these: advanced seventh grade science 'n advanced 'n independent high school computer programmin'. He rose instantly t the top. The diversity of thinkin' now permitted him t use what he had. He was the fastest Series thinker you'd ever run across. All possible problems 'n answers t any given situation are dealt with in a rapid string, mentally workin' things out, in their entirety, a century ahead. After you'd mentioned t him, "In here ya can use what you've got upstairs. Give it a try. Maybe give ya a run fer yer money, more likely the other way round though," we'd sit, communicatin', with only occasional smiles, nods, quips, 'n lots of laughin', in resolvin' science 'n social situations inta the next
millennium. He functioned on phenomenal 'n excessively high abstract levels. Ready fer this? His practice was t work computer programs out, in their entirety, in his head, write them rapidly by hand 'n then feed 'em inta the computer, complete with all those "If then" 'n "Go sub" niceties. He'd help the teachers through their classes in programmin' 'n teach the top experts from the States what you "could" do with a computer. A computer would do anything he wanted it t do 'n not jus' what it was supposed t do. The government here, in this Asian International hub, would send a limousine t pick him up at the school, now 'n again, t have him straighten out 'r program extremely complicated 'n difficult national economic programs that baffled their experts. One lofty, top-in-his-field, Stateside computer expert, sent down t teach us savages got the wind slowly let out by findin' out that Stanley, who as a student he wouldn't allow in the class, was helpin' teachers write programs that theoretically weren't possible. His exact words, "This is not possible to do on these computers or any that I know of." The next day it would be done, Stanley writin' it all out by memory, outside the class, without the use of a computer; 'n they all worked. Shattered that poor expert, babblin' somethin' terrible. Quiet 'n polite Stanley took him aside 'n showed him how it was done, how anything was done. Every now 'n then, we'd hear somethin' like
this from the expert, "But you cannot do that. It's not in the manual," and Stanley replyin', ever so quietly 'n politely, "Forget the manuals. They aren't necessary. Here, watch this." That poor guy jus' stood there gulpin', wettin' his dry lips, confused 'n boggled in disbelief at what was happenin' right before his eyes. His father mentioned, "Besides his computer, this is the first class in his whole life he could see the merit of and feel challenged and be at rest with himself." Stanley had been treated so badly by the Stateside schools that he wasn't goin' back t the States. Would you? His Father respected that decision. We talked a lot. Lost another one! You Stateside folks are gonna hafta start treatin' kids differently (at least these kinda kids), like givin' 'em credit they're gonna remember how they was treated. Those teachers of you out there that're still wrestlin' with the concept, "How can a kid possibly be smarter than the teacher?" can maybe now understand why yer stuck in such a low paid, frustratin' situation -- trap! Face it! No paths beaten t yer door! No limousine pickin' you up t solve National 'r world problems! Could be different though. Nobody's stoppin' ya, savin' maybe the system Your system! Ever wonder why well meanin' parents push instruments, readin', helpin' others, avoidin' social problems, 'n no cheatin'? Obviously they don't do this hopin' their kids'll become no-accounts, social degenerates, associatin' with the dregs of society; push 'em inta politics fer that. But associate is the word here. "Listen Dorkmeyer, this is yer
mother speakin' If ya wanna be the best, 'n ya damn well better be if ya don't want Mommykins t rip yer throat out, then this here's what the best do. And if ya don't get yer act together, with these included, Mommy's gonna stomp on yer chest till blood runs out yer ears. Get it, wimp?" Well, over here, workin' with kids 'n parents from so many different countries, 'n all pushin' the same bill of goods, seemed like somethin' worth lookin' inta. Here was the situation. To be really sharp back home would be average here. To be in the top class here was top of the heap, genetic 'n learned ability-wise. Countries only send their top representatives abroad, whose kids have access not only t what made their parents top, genetically, but t the top learnin' situations: multi-lingual, multi-cultural, multieverything. Math, some ya wouldn't believe. Calculus in Elementary. All extremely polite 'n thoughtful students, but very threatenin'. Remember Don? A typical comment from veteran overseas science teachers on the staff, "You go in, open your mouth, and try to say something that sounds intelligent, not to mention challenging, and all the while, professionally, you realize that you're robbing the students. We don't even understand how their minds work." They were very honest, but still, nobody wanted t go in there. After the first term,the department head handed all the advanced classes over to you with a question, "Where in the world did you learn all those lab
approaches? Your students are doing two to three times the required material and loving it. I am drained after one term of the top kids. See what you can do with them." Well, that was the beginnin' of a long 'n pleasant relationship. From their comments on the classical music you played when they came in "Oh, I was practicing that this morning with some of the blues, jazz and country arrangements you showed me., t bandyin' great books 'n authors about, to a Dutch/chinese student's comment on plagiarism, "It serves no function," we were all in pig heaven, because these kids lived in all-truth, no games land. Truth, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholderrelative n the avoidance of deception, from within n without, seemed t be as close t this epherial entity as we could concur upon. So, there ya sat in this vat of rich genetic 'n social soup, with flashes of lightning insights keepin' it hot 'n roiling -- the outcome bein' that, though parents did encourage these pursuits, through example mostly, neither they nor the student were aware of the exact reasons why (except fer a few students: "You seem to gravitate towards these activities naturally"). It appeared they literally followed instincts that were more perceptible t them than others. Hollerin', beatin', 'n threatenin' won't do it if the kid doesn't feel the tug. Besides bein' unaware of the reasons fer pursuit, they were also unaware of the repercussions of encounter. The years of wresting pieces, solely from practical labs 'n
observations, has led t these things t consider; but recommend you do yer own experiment, under these conditions, jus' t see what you come up with. Ready? Playin' instruments promotes 'n enables abstract 'n more creative thought over mere mechanical responses along with awakenin' 'n harnessin' powerful drives fer perfection within oneself --fer a start. Also, an absolute must fer foreign languages the ear! Readin' ( the Critical diversity of thought is hinged here) will be dealt with later on, up the road a piece). Helpin' 'n a concern fer others is not entirely without genetic precedents in the natural world, but t give aid outside yer immediate family 'r social group, t a possible competitor, 'r help fer no other reason than help, is definitely higher thought. Avoidin' social problems by thought over conflict is par with plottin' fer the common good. Very high thought processes involved 'n control of yer own mind. Foreign languages have an odd, previously undiscerned, spin-off, manifested when you, t the amazement of all, handed a list of top n low students, past n present, t all math teachers, elementary through high school. Apparently it isnt jus the mere conjugatin of verbs but increasin yer diversity of thought capacity by incorporatin another life style n thought pattern each time another language is learned, lived! MonosU.S.A.; U.K.; Australia; etcwerent heavy representatives in higher math, percentage of population-wise. Hence the pattern: instruments, languages, higher math! No plagiarism. (Herein lies the odd man out, as deception is the natural order of things in nature. Likewise, Truth, the
absence of manipulation, the highest 'n rarest of thought patterns, whether deception as "serving no function" 'r jus' t be honest, is almost a deception within itself. No flashin' revelations, dogmatic creeds, causes, 'r philosophical mumbo-jumbo, this; as these all fall inta hidin' behind the bushes 'n attackin', ambushin', bushwackin', 'r throwin' rocks at yer enemy 'r prey; all very natural occurrin' deceptions, from crooks, pulpit, senate, t mob activity -- back at the clan. What we're dealin' with here is not, "The truth of the matter is, yer wrong, turkey," but, "The truth is, I did it," from fingers in the cookie jar, till, 'r whatever. The admission of a natural occurrin' human trait -- deception! Whether a learned characteristic 'r genetic aberration, it is an extremely rare creature 'n seldom, if ever, encountered; new kid on the evolutionary ladder, a mutant, however ya look at it, anti-natural. See if he survives! This rare phenomenon is seen t occur most in kids, before they've been readjusted 'n socially programmed t survive in the increasingly questionable "real world"; a process so complete, they even refuse t admit it t themselves -- self-deception, the ultimate natural "ism". Most succeed. Beware if they're usin' speech, wordism, somethin' up their sleeve fer sure, 'n they mean fer you t see the light -- their own particular brand of illumination though. But of the real powerhouse they were entirely unawares, though practicin', 'n often discouraged from its pursuit. The obvious escapes all but the most determined 'n persistent investigator. Why we are at where we are now, problem solvin' creators.
Before we delve inta problem solvin' please t note that all the afore mentioned pursuits involve thought, though often passive, convenient, 'n unthinkin', all roads lead t it. "To know" what yer doin', a hitherto unknown concept, at least fer educators. This ya had always suspected, probably not alone in that. Whaddya think goes on continually in all those meetings -- behind closed doors, around closed doors, under closed doors -in their frenzied bumpin' inta 'n stumblin' over each other in their desperate lungin', graspin', gropin' exchange of tattered old, tattered new, tattered new old new, tattered old new old guidelines -- ways it's supposed t be? The kid must be made aware of what's goin' on if he/she wishes t step inta this arena of intense, recombinant thinkin' comin' up, down the road, like real quick. If evolution won't speed up fer you, create yer own super critter. Definitely individual on this one, this creatin' yer own world of diversity. Who really knows what you want, with such passion? An indifferent system? If it's gonna be done, it's gonna be done by you. Listen up ya little urchins. What's about t be pulled off, up the road, is gonna hafta be paid for by somebody. Somebody's gonna get strung up. System'll see t that, more'n likely Keeper of the Gate. Keep that in mind. Before the last page is turned, you will possess the keys, dearly bought, t that which lies within you, if ya got the sand t use 'em, face yerself, for yerself. Research 'n observation on all manner 'n difficulty of problem solvin' with hundreds of students, from near as many countries, was leadin' t only one very evident conclusion: no mental
sweat, no mental gain. Puzzles, cryptograms, logics, math brainstorms, etc. did somethin' t yer brain that was not evident in rote memorization 'r lectures. Somethin' was released, a hormone, 'n somethin' was created, grew, expanded, that enabled one t tackle greater 'n greater difficulties in other fields -- if pursued. An overlappin' of growth of ability occurred, that rapidly increased in direct proportion t intensity of problems 'n puzzles, though no fact 'r rote anything had been incorporated, resultin' in faster thinkin' in apparently unrelated fields. Approachin' I.Q. growth maybe? Who cared! A kid could become a quicker, smarter problem solver without any rote memorization 'r lectures, by tacklin' logic problems 'n puzzles. And, as ya had been lettin' the "urge" do the leadin' 'n speakin', once they got hooked on 'em, it was natural, pickin' 'em up when they had any spare time, 'r fer weekends 'n vacations. They felt the need! They liked it! And now comin' up, they would have the added reinforcement of knowin' what was really happenin'. This gettin' "hooked" affected all nationalities 'n races the same, regardless of whatever social 'r political background. If you were an evolvin Homo sapien, it hit ya 'n was somewhat akin t a bright Spring day primed fer the challenge, as ya started out, 'n eruptin', bringin' on an overwhelmin' sense of well-being 'n personal satisfaction when ya completed one, 'specially if it took an hour -- a couple hours, 'n ya were walkin on clouds. Nothin' ya couldn't accomplish then. Though challengin', toughies
often brought wailin' 'n gnashin' of teeth, growth time, sheer determination would pull it off. By 'n by they only sought the tough ones. Four t six hours was not unheard of. Any questions out there about short attention spans? Besides this personally satisfyin' well-being, natural high, there was a marked subliminal association with rapid academic growth fer those who pursued this avenue with intensity. Their choice, literally speedin' up the evolution of their thought processes; let the world stand still, but not fer them; much like time lapse photography of watchin' a flower open up before their very eyes. Unfortunately few, if any, of the necessary logic problems 'n puzzle types were t be found within the Stateside educational philosophy. Not quite entirely true of some in the old Chinese culture though. Conversin' with Au Song, on the banks of his pond, concernin' the matter, revealed some old Chinese also gave their children, at the earliest age, a difficult problem t solve, seemingly quite well outta of the child's capacity. No help, coaxin' 'r hints were given by parents. This was no short term, instant gratification, knock-knock joke affair; often weeks, months, 'r even years were involved. At the completion of that totally independent resolve, another more difficult was given the child, 'n so on. What this amounts t is perpetual problem solvin' type thinkin'. Short attention spans appear t be a Western Civilization type thing where the child is amused by all, performin'
parents 'n teachers desperately tryin' t come up with new things, without the child ever havin' t get personally involved himself in the thinkin' 'n creatin' process. Western Civilization literally takes it away! Almost forbids it! "Teacher didn't tell us the answer. Bwaaaaah!" Heads will roll! The years had revealed that "sharper" kids often tackled, personally, mental challenges that weren't offered 'r perhaps even permitted in educational philosophies. Thus, again unknowingly, gainin' a much higher determination factor, that appeared t rule everything, even their destiny, as it did those in yer classes. We lived by it. Etched in the minds of all, t be at the ready when things got crumblin' tough. If ya gotta have a star t follow, make it the grittin' of yer teeth. Here, run this by, when things get rough: "Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan 'press on' has solved, and always will solve, the problems of the human race." (Anonymous. Well, t some.) Anyway, there'd been recent research on rats physically showin' increased cellular, dendritic brain growth, upon autopsy, when havin been put in enriched environments, over those in bare cages. Even the aged, from old folks homes, physically manifest new cellular dendritic brain growth, when autopsied after death,
after they had had their later years 'n lives enriched with puzzles, games, 'n problems. That this was happenin', ya knew as a child with all the problems of the world comin down on ya, other researchers only verified it. Merely convergent conclusions --one reached by the logic of deduction 'n inductive inferences, the other by the scalpel. Nailed that sucker, baby! Along with distinct 'n different puzzle types, there were distinct 'n different thinkin' patterns. Of all the puzzle types, cryptograms, with their logic of deduction, won, hands down, no contest. Nothin' created this intensity of thought. Right after them came Logics, with their inductive reasonin'. Both had their spin-offs, showin' up in the damndest places; kept a fella hoppin' trackin' 'em down. Increasin stimulus receptors opened up a whole new playin field. One kid, Amanda (multi-lingual), an eighth grader, so damn intelligent it was a curse. She'd been pretty well suspended 'r tossed outta most schools around the world she'd attended. Knew her parents well: father, a United Nations representative 'n mother an exceptional critter in her own right. The whole family, great folks, Amanda included. Mom said, "This is the first time in her life she is calm, relaxed, and challenged. She has never looked forward to anything about school before." Amanda would often hand in the answers t the tough cryptograms immediately after you'd finished puttin' 'em on the board r handin em out individually. No malice
in her. She knew that you knew it, too. Jus' a Beast within a little girl! Genetics was still somethin' t be toyed with. Anybody knowin' Amanda 'n her parents could immediately see the physical resemblance t both her n her sister 'n four brothers fer that matter. A few chats revealed both parents bein' brilliant. Almost too brilliant! Clue time! There were a few loose things in Amanda that didn't fit. Bothered ya some. Hadda know! One day over at their house deliverin' a reference t the highest 'n most advanced science academy in the country where she 'n her family were bein' transferred (only genetics need apply), ya handed the envelope t her mother, along with, "Amanda isn't yer husband's, is she?" The mother, havin' spent much of her life in the diplomatic circles, remained calm, shaken but calm. Apparently not addressin' the question, she commented, "She worships you! You know that, don't you? Now I know why she listens to everything you say or don't say. She says that is even more important." She lets out a smilin' sigh, "This does indeed put another whole new meaning to what she says, 'He knows.' Yes! Yes, of course. You are very correct. She is from a prior marriage of mine. In the diplomatic circles such things as these tend to be put to rest." Interruptin' her, "No details please. Yes 'r no was sufficient. Curiosity, no more." She continued as if not interrupted at all, "When Amanda immediately became a dedicated, straight "A",
acceptable student in everything for the first time in her life, I now know where she got, I must play their game until it is time to play mine! A pause, 'n then ya looked at her curiously, "Why do ya do it?" She was prepared fer this one, sorta. "We both cannot be ambassadors, now can we? Someone has to watch the home." Curiously again, "Why not?" A reflective pause 'n then continuin' again, "Please consider it the next time around, 'r at least in the future." She responded absently, "She does not want to leave, and I am beginning to see why." Breakin' the spell, "There's a troop of Pigtailed Macaques that need lookin' inta, ma'am," as a farewell. She was sharp, if not sharper than her husband, 'n even though she played an excellent role as humble housewife, she couldn't completely hide her level of intelligence. She hadda open her mouth every now 'n then 'n, "Gotcha." Back on the subject again, of things top kids do automatically. There is another phenomenon that naturally arose 'n did indeed exist. Girls, under these already "primed in the pursuit of greatness" circumstances, were literally walkin' off with nine outta ten of the top academic awards given over here. Somethin' t think about; question no, jus' think about. "Why" is only another moot point compared t the phenomenon itself. A guess? Durin' this time, biologically, a girl's system is preparin' fer the ordeal of potential childbirth: gearin' up fer two, carin', motherhood, beginnin' of home, calmery, estrogen, 'n the like. Likewise, durin' this time, a boy's system was bein' prepared fer
none of the above, but fer territorial defense, testosterone things; hence, we push 'em inta, "Rip their throats out, stomp all over their chests till blood runs out their ears," activities. Politicians realize that youth, specifically male youth, are easily aroused t hysterical, non-thinkin' activities. Remember dear Adolph? Hence, one is a calmin' effect, buildin' up energies 'n resources fer two, aided by incredibly healthy diets: veggies, fruit, liver, yogurt, you name it; while the other is muddled with hype 'n mindrattlin' hormones, further wired by diets high in caffeine, sugars, salt n grease. Seems greatness takes awareness! Give it a shot 'n see whatcha come up with. That's what happened though, at least fer those girls that were already primed 'n headed in the direction of greatness. This natural boost shot 'em right t the top. Course this ain't t say, jus' cause yer plumbin's arranged different, yer gonna deliver the world from its ills. Be lucky if ya deliver yerself from yerself; but there is a potential there, perhaps unrealized, untapped. In reference t the above mentioned phenomenon, you confronted various Asian dignities, officials, 'n professional parents on their country's strong cultural practice of slighting female children in preference t males fer higher education, often extractin' the young girls, at a very early age, from school 'n shuntin' them inta cheap labor factories. At times, with you knowin' both male and female students in families, observations revealed parents investin' all their resources 'n energies in a definitely inferior,
indifferent, male "dud" child at the expense of near literally chuckin' their academically 'n genetically superior, brilliant 'n knowledge-hungry, ambitious female child. "Whatcha gonna do when those that have this superior intelligence 'n thinkin' capacity break loose of their cultural bondage 'n slavery society has artificially imposed upon them? Ever heard of Little Rock? Or what about Montgomery? What's the difference of stickin' 'em in the back of busses 'r the back of factories? 'Pears havin' boobs in yer country is 'bout the same as bein' black is in ours! Course, you folks wouldn't be familiar with the wonder of society -- turnin' its own creations upon itself, now, would ya? Like Stanley, Don, Amanda, 'n a score of others in yer classes that had slipped through the fingers of their systems, "Good riddance! Never amount to much, the likes of him/her." Yer years of personal research findin's of where the top 'n worst students come from round the world , n what makes them so, are based on entirely different standards of excellence than rote memorization 'n test takin' abilities 'n, therefore, are quite invalid as acceptable learnin' procedures -- though, as an insignificant spin-off, these now super fueled seekers of knowledge, aced this drivel 'n, therefore, were considered top students fer this bit of irrelevance. The students understood the difference, along with more 'n more instructors 'n parents world wide; unfortunately, again, fer those of
you Stateside, ninety-nine percent does not a majority make -- in a Democracy, education-wise. Were gonna wander round here a bit n take a break before jumpin in, OK? From inventions t concepts in learnin', Yankee ingenuity still fascinated the parents who came in after school t inquire 'n get the details on how they could put the stuff, that their kids were learnin' in labs, t use back home. Invariably they'd invite ya t come 'n teach in their country. Hey! Look who's representin' the good o1' U.S. of A! By worldwide, popular demand, no less! Cringe time fer sure out there. From observin' the local twig-tailed cats sittin' unconcerned as dogs, also unconcerned, wandered sniffin' 'n waterin' by, t gettin' involved with the exceptionally evolved bullet-headed, lunged, 'n gilled Haruan -- a highly aggressive, local freshwater pond fish that literally shot himself outta the water, purposely attackin' the fisherman who hooked him, crackin' his skull 'r crushin' in his chest -- put ya in good stead among the Chinese who, at times, wound up dead fishin' fer this nasty bit of goods, but respected any who knew how 'n dared pursue 'em. Many a humble Chinese household opened up t ya. Even in the highly secretive inner city that possessed no roads. Interestin'! Right through bedrooms, kitchens, yards 'n chickens the cycle went weavin' in n out. Government officials dared not enter this inner Chinese city -- no return!
A universal language of sorts, this willingness t learn. An art maybe, respected even? The word got out, "He goes straight to the aged for knowledge that no outsiders consider of value." They knew a lotta things different, not found anywhere else, passed on things. Of interest, personally enlightenin', was, "He goes another way -- 'n not the way of the English. Even in fishing he goes not the way of Hong; yet look! another way!". Always
Apparently this innocent quest fer knowledge n understandin is
viewed by many from strange t threatenin. Anyway, their secret was safe, as were those of the Tung Soon's, Yuan Yee's, 'n Soon Hok's. Mention of the last brought salivatin' grins. "To have learned these secrets, is it indeed not an art?" Even inquirin' into why near everything down here, from scarce, exotic animal bones, horns, organs t scoopin' out live monkey brains, was fer verility, brought thought. "Awww, come on now, Au Song. Surely a stud like you don't need no gooey pastes t get it up?" Au song's questions invariably led t the sharin' of mind bogglin' cultural insights. "How can you go back in the jungles to fish? Don't they prohibit it?" Fer you out there who may not be familiar with the Asian forests n jungles, Au Songs question was in reference t the billions of trillions of, instantly at the blood-suckin ready, leeches that literally prohibit anybody movin through their territory without extractin a heavy blood tribute. Replyin', "Nope! Can't! That is, if you've been diligent in exercisin'
yer almost inalienable right. Reason bein' our foundin' fathers never quite got everybody all together at once t vote on it, legal like, 'cause some was always out exercisin' this assumed inalienable right. Heated topic back 'n forth, 'specially after them long sessions, way inta the night, with lots of beer. "Gotta do it, Ben!" "Not now, George!" "Yes, now!" "Wait!" "If not now, then, my God, when?" "Jeeze, George! We really screwed up on that "freedom t worship" 'r not oversight, showin' what a bunch of dunderheads we were. We don't put this t a vote, they'll really think we're a passel of hick moonshiners back here fer sure, tryin' t stir up this here Declaration, Rights 'n Constitution thing with corn husks 'n White Lightnin'." Unfortunately, always some absent, out back, when the votin' came. You got it kid! You guessed right! The freedom t pee when ya felt the urge! Explainin you'd elevated 'n developed the awesome potential of this freedom through exercisin' 'n practicin' it all over the world. You'd peed in jars, cans, cups, woks, balloons; behind so many different species of trees, bushes, 'n stumps, it'd make a botanist green with envy; in holes of near every imaginable critter, from worms, gophers, crabs, spiders, rats t you name it; out windows, movin' 'n otherwise; through cracks in walls; showers; in all manner of johns, latrines, 'n outhouses; on ornery dogs, snakes, 'n ant hills; in swamps, jungles, deserts, snow-capped mountains, oceans, 'n near all the States; such a pile of countries, includin' in Russia with love; 'n chances are,
wherever yer livin', probably peed there 'r close by; 'n not t be overlooked, inta the winds, North, East, South, 'n West a baptism of sorts. First of its kind. A bit of reverence there! OOOOOOOO's in order here, too. Bowin' the heads! No mere tinklin' involved here, no, siree! Ya stepped up t do yer duty, no shirkin'. We're talkin' bona fide, Olympic quality whizzes. Filled regulation-sized pints 'n quarts. Hey, before it was fashionable t go metric, there ya were, fillin' up them liters. Jus' a peein' son-of-a-gun, folks! And, t answer yer question, Au Song, Buddha can't help ya on this one. A secret denied even him. Revealed t only a few. Well, only one, right now. But once you become enlightened, it'll be two. Guess that equals a few. Has t do with an ancient ritualistic dance. Ya dance around a bit, doin' a catchy little stomp, gettin' 'em all in a frenzy. Teach ya the steps later on in this enlightenment series. Where were we now? Ah yes, the dance! Originally it was handed down through the ages as the Dance of Wisdom 'n Knowledge, but you'd discovered after you'd got 'em all in a frenzy 'n created the circle of holy water, that they all lined up outside the sacred aurora, so now it's often referred to, by those in the know, as the Dance of Wisdom, Knowledge, 'n Fish bait. Au Song now came alive. "AHHHH! So that is how you can go in there and they cannot do anything. You even use them for bait. Most revealing. Our noble
ancestors received no such illumination as this. Contemplation and thought so harmoniously intertwined with the path a man must walk. A shrine?" . The stompin' round gets 'em in a feedin' frenzy, with all the body heat that's released, as they hone in 'n lunge atcha. Quickly ya whup it out 'n pee a three 'r four foot diameter ring of strong, saline solution urine. None enter the ring, but line up in a circle outside it. Ya then put the ones already inside the circle on yer hook -- an extremely tough, durable, 'n not easily robbed bait; 'n when ya wish t freshen the bait on yer hook, ya merely snatch up some waitin', blood-filled leeches outside the circle. They ooze blood which the fish find appealin'. Often you'd try some that'd got t ya earlier, seein' if they had any preference fer blood of the heathen infidel. In light of this, you can see the merit behind the arisin' suggestion of creatin' not only a special shrine but also a truly International Pilgrimage Whizz Trail, where all could traverse 'n pay their respects, 'n awe a little bit, as they journeyed along, the better fer it. Town 'n trail guides, "Yep folks! This is where he did it, near a full liter. Yes, sir, right here! Course, legend has it, the record lies along one of the many South 'r Central American Jungle Trails. Only legends though! No cause fer alarm! A liter in the jug's worth a lotta wild speculation! Yes, sir, folks, o1' #17 sure got around. Jus' one of his many mind-bogglin', inspirin' contributions t the teachin's of Buddha."
Au Song's, "Here is a house by a pond. Come live in it," was temptin'. Yer, "There is a particular journey, seekin' knowledge 'n perhaps the seekers themselves, t finish," was realized as truth 'n accepted as that. Ah, yes! And what of Hong? What fisherman anywhere would not like t be privy t that one?
CHAPTER 37
Whatcha sorta had in mind was seein' how far a kid could go if he 'r she actually knew what it took t reach the top 'n actually could become one of the best 'n not just' be stuck with their original issue hardware 'r be subject t that unrelenting forcin', stuffin', 'n crammin' of everybody inta the same mediocre fold. As it stood now, not only did the kids not know, but neither did those on high within the system. Whatever bones it was they rattled 'r charts, graphs 'n statistics they juggled 'n shuffled, as Tarot card mystics, 'r ritualistic, occult, educational chants they mumbled amongst themselves, in sacred Poo-Pah codes, behind closed doors, in sworn eye-of-the-toad, fuzz-of-bat omens, in oathy secrecy, they didn't enlighten 'em t the army, nationwide, of the silent, gentle ones that slipped through their fingers yearly, along with all their untapped, unleashed positive energies. What difference does it make how ya bury the best? Right, Solzhenitsyn? Gag! Somebody else has gotta take the helm from these bumblin' ninnies
who wanted t turn us all inta comic, soap freak, mindless, sludge-slurpin', soda fountain jerks. This is our country we're talkin' about! Our ship! Our only 'n now founderin' ship! Its survival! This is whatcha knew: Kids could learn by themselves, with 'r without competent 'r incompetent teachers, definitely without any inept, negative administrative influence highly disruptive. They could be ignited when personal goals, interests, 'n dreams were incorporated inta their study 'n would, in turn, ace any drively pot, Mickey Mouse State requirements, in appreciation fer somebody respectin' what they thought as valid; though this approach was, of itself, a dead end, a trap, a delusion fer all, 'n not an ultimate educational goal t be sought of itself, as it didn't expose the kids t, 'r give 'em hints as t their maximum potential. They thrived on a hitherto unheard of 'n unprecedented level of an up-front, no games, straight truth, no behind closed doors, no forked-tongued settin'. "White Man have heap trouble here, Kimo Sabe!" They knew when adults, parents, teachers, administrators were playin' the games 'n despised 'em fer it, personally insultin' their intelligence. Right there you've lost 'em. How can ya respect someone who doesn't respect? They wanted truth! Not bad! Shed yer games at the doors boys -- teachers, parents, 'n administrators, likewise. A new world comin' up, truthful 'n positive. They've had enough 'n were jus' plain tired of deceits, half-truths, 'n a soapopera reality. Continuin' right along, they are definitely not all the same 'r should any
attempt be made t make 'em such. Parents, though often deluded, knew this t be a fact, kids not bein' the same that is. No problem there. Kids wanted t learn, though what, they weren't quite sure --excludin', of course, personal goals 'n interestin' things - not bein' aware of potential, dormant things inside 'em. They'uz even willin' t learn garbage, as was evident as t what was now bein' presented to 'em , n that even highly censored, altered, biased, 'n selected fer 'em by others, goodies taken out 'n rendered worthless, nutritionless, idealess, 'n decisonless. Kid didn't even get a chance t pick through it hisself , not t mention havin' t relearn it all, up the road apiece, if he ever wanted t get a clear picture of reality. A point: Parents from all over the world knew different kid potentials that other parents from all over the world didn't know. "Why Lordy be! Ya don't say! He can do that?" Get together folks. Great big wonderful world out there bein' denied t all by a tiny handful of insecure, spineless, cringin' demanders of lifeless mediocrity fer all. That ain't the American spirit, baby. To go beyond! Best chuck these suckers! How ya gonna see 'r get acquainted with beyond the stars things if they won't permit ya t get acquainted with yer neighbor down here? Yes, sir! Great preparation fer meetin' folks in other galaxies 'r, fer that matter, the untapped greatness that lies within ya: within ya things that'd likely scare the pee outta the bold but who'd come back fer more. Nope, we ain't here t sit on our asses. We're here t go places, within 'n out.
Movin' right along, intense, 'n only intense, problems 'n puzzles created 'n expanded abilities, extendin' t apparently unrelated fields, usin' no facts, rote memorization, 'r lecturin'. If the kid could do it without strugglin' much, then it wasn't an ability expandin', problem exercise. Continuin', the hands-on, laboratory approach radically enhances learnin' 'n gives all students a chance t explore 'n reach more of their potential, even if they ain't got but a little. Right, Jerry? To not employ this t the fullest capacity possible, in light of all the individual talent 'n natural human resources made available, is jus' bad business practices -- unethical too! The incorporation of the next two facets meant that under no circumstances could this approach be attempted, 'r would it be permitted, t be pulled off in the States. You'd watched the devastatin' results 'n the havoc that ensued in communities by the minuscule, less than one percent who absolutely controlled the majority, destroyin' all their positive hard work 'n efforts fer excellence solely fer the sake of destroyin'; made no difference what it was. The caca would hit the fans fer sure once ya introduced books inta the picture. The critical diversity of thought factor. Once you've read a few books that've been worked over, cut 'n slashed, 'n made safe fer mankind by the censors' axe, ya know the sign, the sterile trail. Nothin's exempt. Recallin' one popular work, didn't really take no super whizz bang, cracker jack, deep metaphysical mind t see this thing'd really been worked over, whatever it
originally ever was after the power, money, special interests groups, right wingers n fanatical censors got finished. Lookit the mess they've turned it inta now: thousands 'n thousands of different cliques, cults, denominations, 'n organizations wavin' everything ya can imagine, fightin' 'n hatin', belchin' vehemently, sockets stretchin' 'n veiny-necked, all squallerin' out their version of what he really meant. Who says power, money, 'n fringies can't influence everything? Nothin's sacred. Talk about negatives tryin' t destroy good positive things. . A few unstables were forcin' everybody t remain devastatingly illiterate. See a book r any different way of lookin' at things n it ignited somethin--boom! Anyway, gotta be among lovers of great literature if yer gonna pull this one off. Shame books never did catch on in the public school system. Great diversity of thought there. And number two, respect fer all 'n be accountable fer yer actions. Peace fer all is right around there someplace. They'll come outta the dark cracks on this one. Can't have vested interests muddlin' the message like theyve done in the past. "Fightin' 'n hatin'." Yes, sir, blow them babies up. Watch them sores fester. "It's them again' us." Chapter 'n verse, all the way. Somethin' went wrong someplace!! Well, that was whatcha knew, n now, whatcha wanted t find out was, employin' all these things, could ya give 'em a goal that would be theirs naturally, genetically? Awaken dormant unrealized forces jus' a-waitin' t spring inta action fer
survival's sake? Use intense diversity 'n independent will t push 'em inta themselves, further 'n further, until they find their way, hopefully crumblin' again 'n again 'n again along the way, bein' blown away from every possible direction, yet arisin' from somethin' entirely within' themselves? Go fer self-destruction, extinction! "Wipe yerselves off the map ya little grubbers; a has-been, once upon a time species." Somethin' you'd suspect they'd wanna know fer themselves. You survived 'r you didn't. Intenser 'n intenser, always on the gropin' edge, the waiverin', uncertain precipice of maximum potential of everything you are as a species. Drop out anytime ya want. That's what extinction's all about -- no longer capable of functionin'. You don't take this path, that's extinction! You want an easy ride? Stay in the womb!
CHAPTER 38
Well, here we are at last, South America; producer of Gabriel Garca Marquez, Evita, Simon Bolivar, Cervantes n on n on; n again as things work out that way, ya wound up in what appeared t be the worst of all possible worst situations t try pullin' off this tomfoolery. Not that South America in general was the worst possible situation, but where was. The country had its problems, as the world realized, but the school was in worse shape -- controllin' rich sendin' their controllin' rich kids t learn how t play the games t keep controllin'. Manipulation 'n deceit were the cornerstones of this institution. Administration 'n most local teachers knew of no other alternatives. To them the truth was deceit. Bootlickers t power 'n t the kids of power. Add t this a very uptight, insecure, 'n extremely threatened first time principal, recently lower primary teacher, who dealt with everything 'n treated everybody on this primary level from inside her rules 'n guidelines fortress, t dominate 'n control, by
whatever deceptive manipulation, the newly arrived, often gifted, principled, 'n community respected new breed of Stateside teachers who couldn't tolerate the social power games she played 'n quit in disgust 'n frustration. Wasn't the problems of the country, but the revulsion that followed in this woman's wake that sent 'em packin'. This was yer first time you'd seen an administrator so thoroughly without respect by teachin' staff. A guess? She could be manipulated by parents 'n kids. They'd brag about it. Guess there's not much in it once ya become a puppet 'n sell out, thirty pieces 'r whatever. Wheeeew! Teachers' room talk was somethin' else. With all this 'n still South America? You bet! These were jus' yer basic one percent, illiterate negatives, strugglin' fer their non-entity 'n non-existence 'n don't count culture-wise as they're non-contributors. Nobody wants t become extinct, 'specially if ya see it rapidly approachin'. When there's greatness in the air, they cower, tremble, 'n indecisively slither 'n disappear up their dictums -- loose tremblin' bowel movements jus' waitin' t happen. Lots of tremblin in store here folks! Love of great literature in the culture. The parents, as it turned out (as before), were not all of this ilk, probably less than one percent, 'n rose above the occasion, battlin' under the worst of conditions. As fine as folks as you'd ever seen and, imagine that, someone havin' the nerve t stand up t the countrys less than one percent. Unheard of! These folks prized truth, honesty,
integrity, 'n respect. Hats off to 'em -- balls, baby, balls! Uphill battle all the way. Some have already lost it. What a waste of life 'n talent. Next time the fringies wanna bury someone, know some negatives nobody'll miss. The worst of all rigid, disciplinary, stiflin', waste of time, insultin' t a kid's intelligence, obstacle t learnin' ridden detour on reality Stateside programs had been adopted. Those seekin' security in drivel 'n mind waste had picked well, creatin' barriers as formidable as any of concrete, steel, 'n wire in which t mask 'n hide their insecurities. Circumventin' the adopted curriculums, math, readin', 'n language coordinators, not t mention administrative double talk, was a constant battle. Disgustin', the negative, low opinions they had of kids. Even these noxious, repugnant wretches didn't deserve the low esteem put upon their potential. Let's face it, after three 'r four hundred generations of war 'n destruction, fer whatever reason, political 'r religious, it was evident that power hungry adults didn't wanna give up their games. No one comes out ahead with odds like that, leastwise life on Earth as we know it. Can't win no game, that you knew of anyway, with those battin' averages, let alone enter 'n survive the future with this kinda track record. Let the kids talk t each other. Seems like they were doin' a pretty darn good job of communicatin' the last time ya left 'em. Could it be we change 'n destroy a perfect leader -- a child?
Fer those of you out there adamantly squallerin' out, salivatin' rabid protests, "They wouldn't know what to do! Not the foggiest idea!" Well, neither do we! Not real good business though, gotta admit that, keepin' us at the helm, seein' what we can do, track record 'n battin' average wise. Store'll go bankrupt. We may not like the idea, but we don't have t be around t clean up the mess we've created. Not very responsible, wouldn'tcha say? Well, the kids'll figure out what we're up to- they ain't that dumb -- 'n turn against our sacreds. Then what do ya do, besides look small? Perhaps bein' created in our likeness ain't all it's cracked up t be -- bein', "turned inta somebody else's figments." Closer look here. That's how the cards lay. The hand we've been dealt. Maybe not be such a bad idea lettin' somebody else play it this time, kids maybe. There was them from whom a fella could learn a thing. You were bankin' there were more; more than any had ever suspected! Well, looks like it's finally arrived, comin' down time. Gonna need help on this one. Lots of help! Heh . . . heh . . . heh! OK, Machiavelli! Yer hour has come. Pull out the stops! Whatever it takes. It's truth t the kids! Keep administration 'n curriculum deceived; they seem t prefer it that way. Soon as these academic degenerates walk out the front door, open up the back 'n let in the COUNCIL! No strategy formin' time needed here. They know exactly what t do.
The world is not, 'n perhaps never will be, ready fer what was about t go down. There were, as always, certain "knowns", taken fer granted by now. You, as always, were entirely expendable. If you were fortunate, usin' all yer skills of evasion, ignorin', 'n circuitin', 'n yer health held out, you could maybe last three years. The frustration of tryin' t do somethin' positive like this, within' the confines of such a deceptive, manipulative 'n negative game playin' structure, would have ya climbin' the walls. One gets the feelin', at times, you've merely exchanged "Sacrilege" fer "Not acceptable educational policy". Please t note that paranoia is alive 'n well someplace in the heart of a South American jungle! The Keeper of the Gate, at all costs, would be that. If a kid chose this route, nobody, but nobody, would interfere with his/her decision -- coordinators, administration, 'r parents. This was a voluntary, democratic choice, a vote t step inta the future, boldly, gutsy, where truth, respect fer all, personal responsibility fer yer own actions, 'n the will t rise above 'n be great reigned supreme. You took this route, baby, you had sand! More when they got t helpin' ya along. No mistakin' that! Course the Keeper of the Gate was not without his balls either. If ya wound up destroyin' yerself, it made no difference. Nothin' made any difference except the need t know if this hitherto unsuspected level of greatness existed in kids. You were sure it was there!
Waitin' the chance. Felt it in yer bones. They were about t meet some heavies. Right, Niccolo? A point in passin': These kids went t other teachers fer Religion, Spanish, P.E., 'n Computer (all games, no instruction in BASIC programmin'). Everything leaves a trail. Somebody opens his/her mouth, 'n ya can tell where the mind's been the last few years. Took the usual couple weeks, but they had so thoroughly fallen under this curse of Westernization, junk food t junk minds, degenerated inta nauseatin', whinin', 'n simperin' ingrates that one hardly knew where t start. Life is more than subsistin' on TV soaps, soda pop, 'n potato chips, bouncin' around from one video game t another, orderin' maids 'n chauffeurs about, struttin' yer self-acclaimed wealth 'n power-bought greatness through fads 'n parties r seekin' somethin' 'r somebody ya ain't; but they weren't aware of it -- more t life, that is -- not jus' yet, anyway. Well, time t take the plunge. Like cleanin up puke. To make matters worse, in walks Miss Prissy Pants, entirely out of it, child psychologist. How come all third worlders get stuck with these soap opera vestiges. Youd figured it out long ago that boys homes were third worlders, along with all State run institutions; Juvie was real Third World. Thoreau 'n Paine are both sulkin' over in the corner fer not comin' up with that startlin' bit of insight. Testy!) It was enough t turn yer bowels t listen t her whinin' appeal, jus' like the kids, t please
move the seat of one of the girls, as her best friend feels the other students make fun of her. "She is not socially accepted." Replyin', "Well, who gives a flyin' fig, lady? That's life! Let her chew on it fer awhile. She'll live." She finally left us with echoes of, "Oh, please consider it," from someplace far off in her ga ga lollyland. Isn't that a schizoid? The girl, Rennie, appeared yer typical "A" Student --straight "E", excellent, down here. A quiet, polite, non-instigatin' kinda kid that appeared t be thrown inta a situation. Her friend, Leona, aside from also bein' an "A" student, was quite the opposite, otherwise. Straight forward, no nonsense, ready t help, no matter what the odds, principled kid. Yes, sir, that one had somethin' on the ball; more'n any you'd seen so far in this sixth grade class. Then it hit ya. Dammit! First clue. You'd missed rule number one. The kids were so impregnated 'n conditioned inta the manipulation 'n game playin' world they lived in that it had foggled yer senses fer a while there. All mixed up. A quick reshufflin' in yer mind of all that you'd observed of these kids confirmed it. Crap! You'd been fooled! Pissed was not the word. What in the hell was she doin' hidin' behind an "A"? Ya walked quietly outta the room, shakin' yer head 'n grinnin t yerself, down t the library, grabbed a book, walked back in, caught her look straight in the eyes as ya walked over t her. The other looked on, astonished. She saw ya were dead serious. "It's all over, kid! No more games!" She knew right then she'd been found
out. How? She'd fooled 'em all. Still lookin' right in her eyes, ya plopped down the biggest book she'd ever been handed, with a definite thud that jarred her inta reality. She said nothing. No questions. No complaints. She knew! Of course she knew. They don't hang around no low-life riffraff n negatives, n Leona was in no way t be considered a loser. Usually they're loners. Their systems literally can't take it. As all their innate abilities are non-acquired, meanin' that none can claim the credit, this also was genetic, this non-association with potential losers; maybe too much t dangle on one gene -- associates perhaps, but always there. They actually slip inta a regressive mode, ya might say, around too many negatives -- like bein' choked, witherin', escapin' noxious gases. Definitely a critical survival characteristic. As a leaf closes up its stoma when drought hits t conserve water, life, 'r maybe the crypto-bionic state of the macroscopic Wooley Bear. These aren't jus' timid wall flowers. This is somethin' they never outgrow. Can't. Its coded in the gene pool. Years of silently observin' 'em hidin', 'n respectin' their decision t remain so, now came inta play, along with an end t respectin' their decision t remain so. Smilin', lookin' down at Rennie sittin' there, "Sorry 'bout that, kid!" She grinned impishly, shruggin' her shoulders in resignation. Walkin' away, "Oh! Don't make a stick, one way 'r the other, where ya sit, hide, inside 'r out."
She went through Tolkien's three hundred plus paged Hobbit in a few days, in English. Gotta remember this is South America, Spanish land. Give it a try 'n see if you do as well in whatever your second language is. We chatted about where she was each day, nothin' more; very comfortable, no questions r book reports. We met in the tale, wherever she was at. And that's how it continued right through The Fellowship of the Rinq, The Two Towers, The Return of the King, Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea, Steinbeck's Cannery Row, Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, Rand's We the Living, Tolstoy's War and Peace, Hugo's, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Shute's The Pied Piper, plus works by Swift, Poe, Doyle, 'n more, fer a start. She'd already gone through over five thousand pages of
stuff she couldn't put down. Her favorites, up till now, though she liked 'em all, were Ayn Rand's four hundred and fifty paged We the Living 'n Tolstoy's near fourteen hundred paged War and Peace. She'd disappear outside someplace on the lawn, under a tree, fer hours, spellbound, readin'. Towards the end of the year Rennie looked over, she sat by yer desk when she wanted t be inside, "It wasn't the books, was it? You wanted me to meet them!" A smile was all she got. She was the tiniest girl in the room, which meant two things. One, it was quite a chore fer her t pack around War and Peace, 'n two, you got it kid. She'd seen 'em on
TV, both Olga 'n Nadia. Right t the very limits we took her three times a day. She was that way; as far as she could go in everything. A couple months after Rennie began her odyssey, her mother, an extremely positive lady, who now often dropped by, made a comment "When she speaks, we now really listen to her." Asked her once who she felt would be a good choice, idea-wise fer Rennie t read, between Marx 'n Lenin. Unhesitatingly she said, "Both, like I did when I was her age!" ( Does Mother carrier come t mind?) Come a time, maam, that quiet little kid will say a thing n a whole lotta folksll listen up! Others followed Rennie in everything, Leona right behind her. Couldn't keep up though.. Bein' a straight "A" student was easy. This was madness. Rennie ate it right up, smilin'. After this first year of producin' the "Seed Crop", though by no means complete in all aspects, ya tackled the second year. The readin' coordinator, along with all the rest of the coordinators, was a real pain in the butt last year. "Oh, nobody can understand those books without the proper interpretation. They are far beyond their capacity to comprehend as children. Even though they had voluntarily tackled them 'n skyrocketed in C.A.T. scores. "Ask 'em any questions ya want, now, next year, anything. They're 'oficianados', ya know, of everything in those books." She never did though; kept evadin' it n not givin' the kids a chance t speak. She'd still be around this
year. Had a wild hair up yer ass, ya did. A cutie! To toy with the system. You can understand that, cant you Amanda? Audio visual time again. Picture an overweight, dense, "quick, better move the wall 'r he'll bump inta it," front line football-type kid; a problem, pushin' 'n bumpin' inta kids, n a lower academic achiever with all those other nice terms. The kid's a meathead! Let's face it, folks. Well, he got plopped in yer class, along with some sharpies this year. A few weeks inta the classes, after watchin' him struggle with basic stuff, "Humberto, how bad do ya wanna stop bein' low man in life 'n rise t the undisputed champ academically?" It got t be that when ya asked a kid one of these simple questions, theyd wind 'er right up inta visions mode. This was no jokin' proposition 'n he knew it. They'd already seen what'd happened t a couple real slow kids last year. Counselors, psychologists, 'n coordinators still gropin' around with perplexed looks on their faces, lookin' at the end of the year's scores 'n comparin' 'em with years earlier. You'd drop by occasionally, "Well, well, well, it looks like ya really screwed up again on yer Ouija board, voodoo placement tests last year." Black 'n white, there it was. "Jeeze, you guys (they was all women) gotta be careful. Some folks might get t takin' 'em serious. That'd be a joke, now, wouldn't it?"
"Humberto, how bad do ya wanna walk on water?" He knew one thing, as did others in the class, you was frighteningly serious. Macabre time! Whole future life zippin' by time. The clown 'r what he'd always wanted. No time fer nothin' but cold reality. He gulped n nodded. That was the beginnin' of sweatin on the inside. Few folks know about this phenomenon. Humberto did. Straight t the cryptograms. It was nothin' short of death 'n rebirth -- hourly! You could see his mind churnin', "God, if it was possible." He could taste it. No more "dummy jokes" made up, especially with him in mind. Maybe he'd overheard, rememberin', you 'n a couple others, "Does patience really serve a function, 'r is it merely a mask, a waste of time?" "Yeh, mine." Rapidly evolvin' critter time here. "Know how it is, don'tcha, Jerry? One shot is all ya got. Shame this couldn't be you. What's about t be pulled off here jus' wasn't permitted t be unleashed back then -- maybe not now either. Hope all is well though, Jerry -- doin' fer yerself-wise! Soon, when other kids in the class were finishin' one, he'd be done with three 'r four. Independent Algebra was now startin' t make sense. Lab work was pickin' up rapidly. Five months later, walkin' over by his desk, "Humberto! Droppin' a whole page of cryptograms in front of him, "Time him, Andre," t his friend next t him. No questions! No nothin'! Immediately he was at it. After the page of eight cryptograms
was completed, Andre brought up the paper, with the individual times of each one along with the total time of thirty-one minutes circled at the bottom. Ya reached inta the file cabinet at yer side 'n pulled out another page of the exact cryptograms worked out, only last year, by the undisputed King, 'r shall we say Queen, of these bogglers. Isabel was phenomenal! A legend here. More of her in jus' a few minutes. Ya handed Andre the paper, whose eyes immediately got big. "WOW! You beat her by thirteen minutes, Humberto!" Casually he looked at it. No giggles. Jus' thinkin'. His parents also mentioned an "unexplainable change" that had almost instantly taken place, 'n when he now talked, it was worth their while t start listenin'. His readin' was right up there behind Rennie's last year schedule, likewise, their new, student-acclaimed leader. Not t beat her, but t share what she had. Interestin' concept, that. Ya then nodded t Alicia, the top independent math student in the class, motionin' with yer head over t Humberto. She picked up her math paper, that had two unfinished algebraic problems she had left til later, as they were difficult, 'n handed 'em t Humberto. He sat quietly 'n looked at 'em fer a few seconds 'n then quickly, often too quickly now, tackled 'em, both polynomials. One he got right. The other almost, forgettin' one step, which he quickly corrected, after Andre saw his error. Handin' the paper back t Alicia 'n lookin' at yer watch, "Five months,
Humberto! Not bad!" Pickin' up the three papers, ya wandered casually outta the class, "Off t see the witch doctors, men," with Marx Brothers' sobriety. The Readin' coordinator, specialist, as alluded to earlier, was another up-tight frail, frustrated in her attempts t impress upon ya the glories of the programmed, bits 'n pieces, confetti approach t readin' 'n appropriate readin' level books, ascertained by the sawdust algorithm: shreddin' a book inta sawdust 'n stackin' all the parts of speech in neat, separate stacks 'n classifyin' 'em 'n then tackin' appropriate authors' intentions on each stack -- their ultimate goal bein' t dismantle 'n concise all literature inta a one book library -- a dictionary. This had been a depressin', old story. Lookin' at potentially good 'n interestin' books, that'd been made bland, wishy-washy, 'n unread 'n often censored t somehow protect the kids from somethin' nobody could agree upon, brought back President Eisenhower's ideas that'd come too late fer a knowledge hungry kid years ago. He spoke out against the State Department's 'n Senator McCarthy's book burnin' 'n removin' books from overseas libraries 'n thought control. Eisenhower said that books by Karl Marx 'n Joseph Stalin made readers aware of the true nature of communism. He voiced confidence in the wisdom of the American people t think 'n write as they pleased 'n t read books of their choosin'. Hed defended the retention of merely controversial books in any American library, believin' the U.S. was strong enough t
expose its differin' views t the world. Well, the school readin' 'n everything else society experts 'n ordained watchdogs had cut, whittled, 'n selected, until books didn't sound good no more. Shoulda taken the clue when we saw what they did t Dick 'n Jane. They even did it t Spot, too! And with no one t abate 'r hinder their destructive cravings, on they went, witch hunters all, fer more 'n greater conquests, until all literature that came under their influence lay gaspin', all life drained; takin' a work 'n reducin' it t heaps of ever so fine participles, phonemes, diphthongs, vowel structures 'n then syllabicatin' it t bits 'n pieces of gutteral grunts so that none could tell exactly by what fate he, she, 'r it met their end. "Poor chap, whoever he, she, 'r it was. What a way t go, t be diphthonged is bad enough, but t be syllabicated on top of that; 'n if that wasn't enough, t be disembowled, adjective by adjective. In the rubble who will ever know who he, she, 'r it really was?" Here's a test ya can give these English, language, readin' basal types. Up tight frails work the best. Submit a super bland story t one of 'em fer evaluation, but load it up with gobs of bits 'n pieces of infinite 'n finite things, 'n then watch her start takin' it apart. The staunch diety look'll soon turn inta a kinda enjoyin' it, as she starts workin' up a lather, followed by the daze, 'n then the wide-eyed, smilin' frenzy, until she sits there quiverin', all diphthonged out, twitchin' 'n syllabicatin' all over herself. Right in
front of the children, too! Yes, sir! Really work that story over! Watch 'n see if it ain't so. Quiverin'! Give it a try yerself, some chilly evening by the fire with a group of close friends, all excitedly discussin' infinite participles, gerunds, 'n syllables, gaspin' in uncontrollable frenzy. Awesome! Now ya can see why TV never really caught on in replacin' books. Gad! Did it ever really stand a chance? Well, there she was quiverin', probably from a different reason, most likely, as she saw ya comin' in. Couldn't be yer casual inquiry 'n passin' of pleasantries a few days back in her office, "Who's responsible fer gettin' the school swindled 'n sucked inta this confindence game rip-off of buyin' inta this Dr. Quack's Snake Oil 'n Horse Liniment approach t readin'? Rubbish! Bunco artists sure put the squeeze on you patsies. Rubbish!" Naw! Couldn't be that? Holdin' up a familiar paper, "Remember this?" You could see, under her smile, everything that could possibly be tense, defensive, become so. Isabel could work out the most complicated, English language cryptograms, anagrams, syllagrams, logics 'r whatever apparent unsolvables anybody wanted t give her, in her second language, something no teacher here could do in their first language. The readin' coordinator could not 'n would not even attempt these intricacies that required a superior understandin' of the English language. She herself, in her years in South America,
could not as yet speak Spanish, literally nothin'! Straight English! And here was an eleven year old girl doin' what no English, readin', 'r literature teacher in the whole school -- that's high school, too, Ph.Ds included, could come anywhere near attemptin' in their own first language. Well, maybe one, but she didn't quite know it yet. Yet Isabel, with her highly advanced n complex mind that easily functioned on a multiproblem solvin n interpretation level that few will ever attain, had always been placed as the slowest of slow learners in the lowest possible readin' groups durin' her previous years with the sawdust 'n confetti, only one right answer, basal approach of this readin coordinators non-thinkin, strict, rigidness of interpretation, axe t grind. Does
Stanley, Don n Amanda come t mind? Again, rubbish! Good word, that. Now she was absolutely turned off t everything about school except the most complex challenges you supplied her. Once last year you'd got her t give it one last try, as she jus' didn't wanna be classified on the records as a dummo; but whatever the readin' coordinator had done, she came back depressed, even more turned off. Later, inquirin' of the coordinator, "She has not proven herself, to my satisfaction of correctly stating the objectives and explicit criteria of evaluation for her specific grade level. Shame, she should have enquired of Isabel her profound insights inta Solzhenitzen, Hess, Castenada r Gabriel Garca Marquez.
Well, that was before you'd shown her the papers of mind bogglin' intricacies that Isabel matter-of-factly, without paper n pencil, unraveled with ease 'n invited her t try a few herself 'r t ask her any questions about the books she was now readin', all high school level. She was literally killin' all interest in readin' with her of divine origin, sawdust 'n confetti basal approach. It was hard fer her t realize, "quiverin', all diphthonged out, twitchin' n syllabicatin' all over herself," that this wasn't everybody's idea of thought provokin', quality readin' material. Later that year, upon again suggestin' she ask any student, last year's 'r this, any question about the books they'd read, it was discovered she hadn't read any of 'em. Pridin' herself a woman's liber 'n no Ayn Rand's, a favorite with yer sixth grade girls when thought became more important than "novelas" (soaps). Nor was she attuned t the drop in TV viewin', in preference t readin', that was the buzz of the parenthood. She was still gropin' with the shock, the whole new concept of integratin' real books inta the readin' program, not t mention the apoplectic tremors with the idea of "junkin'" the whole readin' program fer books. On closer scrutiny, these self-perceived, vaulted, hallowed 'n revered standard bearers may, in reality, be the real destructive 'n terrorist elements t the desire of learnin', pursuit 'n attainment of man's potential, as they went t great lengths t withhold great literature from the reach of kids, 'r anybody fer that matter, that fell prey
t their influence. Ya keep shuttin' the door, blowin' up the bridges, that's about as good a way as any t make sure nobody gets anywhere. Could it be that maybe they jus' felt threatened by greatness of ideas? (This one was, Very insecure, t quote the mate.) Could they possibly have so soon forgotten Hitler's opinions of teachers, all wantin' t turn kids inta "pedantic erudites"? Hey, wouldn't it be somethin' if they hadnt read that one either? Under their tutelage readin' had deteriorated inta compelling recalcitrants, into a catatonic state of gottas instead of inta a feverish pitch of enthusiastic wannas. Two economies workin' here. People pay money t read interestin' books, but those that don't sell, duds, they appear t sell t the educational system. Sounds like government contracts here, kickbacks; School boards more'n likely in cahoots with text publishers. 'Bout the only way yer gonna get any fire outta these book programs is t light a match to 'em. The book burnin' crews throughout history have been burnin' the wrong books. The ones that totally destroy man's will t strive fer the greatness 'n the good that is within him, they left. (Lest that's what they really, purposely intended on doin' -- the feelin' threatened mediocres, that is!) Common comment from kids, "We never realized there were books like these. That's why we watch so much TV." Course, then again, the real problem here may not have been sneakin' them strangers inta the classroom, who it appeared had indeed been strangers, but "Dead
folks teaching our kids. Who knows what a dead man will say? Besides you can't control them." Maybe that was the real issue here. Right, Paine? Rousseau? Little Calvinism kinda things creepin' in there among these Flat Earthers. "Been flat, might as well keep it flat. What's good enough for the earth is good enough for our educational system." Sure don't want anybody rockin' the boat, leastwise on no flat earth. Lordy no! Everybody jus' sit tight, cowerin' 'n fearful. Yeh! That's the way. Gives another whole new meanin' t really goin' back t basics. Then maybe what really rankled her might have been that there were those receivin' unbridled 'n uncensored knowledge, delvin' inta ideas without those necessary, proper interpretations. "Jettisoned islands", excellin' far beyond what she 'r the system thought possible, not only without her, but in spite of also. Gettin' her pink slip from some rug rats takin' a different tack not in the program. Confusion. Helplessness. Out of control. Face t face with the big reality -- immediate, impendin', final extinction. "But nobody prepared me for this." FLUSH! Beware of dour 'n mealy dispositions. Great literature doesn't do that t ya. Best bet! No institutionalized trained people, ideas, 'r philosophies permitted near children, Third worlders, chickens, dogs, sticks. Use real, whole people if you wanna raise real whole kids.
As usual, she was not without allies in concern fer the possible ill effects of readin' with all their ramifications -- Hydra-headed horrors all. Again, one parent, a soap freak. "Don't you think it's unnatural for a child to read so much?" Yer reply, "Her choice, ma'am. Give her room. With any luck, 'n a lot of patience on yer part, maybe she'll grow outta it. Get tired, bored. After all, what can a book hope t offer in the light of a good, solid, thought provokin' "novela" (soap)? Have patience with her. Adolescence 'n all. A phase. Look at it this way, ma'am. What can a twelve year old possibly know?" A worrisome, concerned reply, "Oh, I do hope so." But the response was quite different fer the rest of the parents who came in, havin' noticed their kids readin' every chance they got -- weekends, holidays, away inta the night, "We do not know what is happening, but we like it." There were those, of the very successful parents, that had read many of these works at the same age that their own children were doin' now. Mostly mothers! As ya extended 'n offered readin' books t other grades 'n classes, under the table of course, phenomena arose amongst both students 'n teachers, mostly t the surprise of the young, newly arrived Stateside teachers. Please t note, they weren't negative 'r hostile, jus' confused at what was happenin', not knowin' how t deal with the situation. From their basic comment, on seein' the books that the kids were readin' 'n bein' informed that kids had been readin' these books fer years, "Not in the United
States of America they haven't!" t summin' up the common plea, as they dropped by, "Help me! I don't know what to do with this uncontrollable reading! They all want at those books and those incredible labs. They all want what we have always taught and preached to them that they should want, but now that they really want them, we aren't trained or prepared to deal with it. We don't know what to do! Help! Nobody prepared us for this. How do we deal with this desire to learn that you've unleashed in them?" One particular fifth grade teacher was climbin' walls, along with the brilliant kid in her class you were workin' with. Interestin' situation, what with her realizin'
everything, from his vastly superior intellect t the boring worthlessness of the required workbook drivel but not havin' the wherewithal, sand 'n balls type things, t buck the rigid system 'n save the individual. As a matter of fact, every class had 'em, from a tiny fourth grader who was right behind her brother in yer class in readin' n labs t even tinier, extremely enthusiastic tots in kinder you were workin' with in algebra, geometry n applied physics in the same identical labs your sixth graders were workin with n that blew away the high school math n physics teachers after seein the lab write ups: We have no one up here that can function on this level of sophistication! The
average kids were also rapidly joinin in n that was only in the dozen r so classes that ya had infiltrated with this madness. Unfortunately, all still bein' force-fed meaningless sludge .
Well, there starin' her in the face was another paper, greater than the first 'n right behind Rennie in Readin'. Humberto was also now acclaimed t be one of the top three all time authorities of all that ever transpired in all the journeys, of all the characters, in all of Tolkien's near 1700 pages from The Hobbit through The Return of the Kinq, 'n had his eye on War and Peace after he finished Papillon. And, as not t be outdone by anybody in anything, he was also acclaimed by all -- all manner of official readin' 'n math scores verified, black 'n white, believers all -- to have been the slowest, lowest, 'n most non-functionin' kid from grades K to 5, even outdoin' 'n excellin' Isabel in inability. This was yer Wild hair mentioned earlier. The readin' coordinator was gettin' the twitches. Again, probably not from gettin' it off on any danglin' past participles. Crow wasn't part of her acceptable diet. Ya handed the other paper t the math coordinator, who immediately threw up her hands, "I'm a believer! No contest! Sixteen out of the eighteen top, advanced math and science and literature students came out of your room. Every class in high school wants those kids. They have never seen anything like them. They are totally independent! Complete to a fault." A newly arrived stateside middle school science teacher made a comment on them in the teachers' room, "My God! Who are those kids? Where did they come from? I've never seen anything like them. They do everything before it's asked. And that's not
just everything that is required, but everything that's possible. They work so quietly and courteously, and with such super efficiency. This society did not produce those kids! No system produces kids like those! They don't need me! They don't need anybody!" Back in the class, Andre mentioned, "It's really not important what anybody thinks." Replyin', "Got a point there, kid! Nobody's gonna be changin' any minds, lest they's lookin' 'n hopin' fer it." Walkin' over t the blackboard, writin' a few names, talkin', "Best not t expect change in the cards; 'sides, set concrete's rough stuff t work with. Not all bleak though. They know yer comin'. Make the most of it. This time maybe it was jus' an old man gettin' his thrills stickin' it to 'em. Course, not much in it stickin' it t the dead. Ya want change?" pointin' t the names on the board: Lincoln, King, Gandhi, JFK, . Silence! Thinkin', ponderin', silence! You knew near every one of the hundreds of kids from Pre-K t six, due t yer underground learnin' activities: readin', labs, functionin' on higher principles (more on that later), 'n yer student teaching program. This last was where ya sent kids out t introduce lab science t the lower grades. Young "Gate Keepers" they were, permittin' the kiddies t discover fer themselves; no teacher influence permitted. Yer students later changed it t student learners. They'd let ya know if they ran inta any real sharp kids, especially if they were tryin' t hide. They knew! So that's how ya knew about her kid,
the language coordinator's, that is, "the one that didn't quite know it yet," what she was packin' around upstairs. Everything leaves a trail! A few casual questions clinched it, especially when ya got straight 'n honest answers. Like: "What do ya do in yer spare time -- those few moments ya get every now 'n then t relax by yerself?" She replied instantly, "Oh, that's easy! Directly to my flute every chance I get! I need it to recharge my batteries!" Grinnin', lookin' over at her, "Here! This'll perk ya up," handin' her a crypto, which she aced, along with piles more 'n lots of logics as she got introduced 'n acquainted t some of her inside things she had never suspected. Ya filled her in on the important things in her life 'n history, gaps, suspicions, questions, inclinations, 'n that she had a sight more potential than she realized. What a time t find out about it! Anyway, it had come down from her grandmother, through her mother inta her 'n inta her kid. Her husband, a bit of a macho, didn't take lightly t yer tellin' her t let him know that the exceptionality within' their child came from her. Knew he wouldn't! Loved it! Especially riled him, bein' in business, n not doin too well, that if he had any important decisions t make, best listen t anything she had t say. A point 'n a question hadda be cleared up. The point, which she assured you, that she wouldn't let her kid hide. "Nail his jammies t the wall, right off. Stand proud of whatcha got, kid." The question was answered straight 'n honest, "What the hell are you doin' in this asinine, diddlysquat, language coordinator
position that must be absolute, unbearable drudgery?" Replyin', "It is! It is! God, I can't stand it! Help me! More challenges, logics, and cryptograms. More! More!" It had been only a short interim on their way t another country where she got her own class. But, in the meantime, you supplied her basic needs fer survival with lots of mind bogglers! Nobody escaped! End of the second year. Eleven had tackled it 'n survived, 'n so had their parents. Basically, if any survived this onslaught of intense diversity, then "they were" the answers. All had been markedly changed by the experience 'n seriously questioned the powers on high why they hadn't had this opportunity from kindergarten, coveting the opportunity that had opened up fer a couple three dozen kindergarden t sixth graders from other classes. This was another facet of whatcha were pullin' off. They came inta the class fer individual n totally independent math/science labs 'r gettin' readin' books anytime they wanted. One of yer sixth graders: "You kids don't know how lucky you are." One reply from a quiet, minuscule third grader healed some of the wounds of envy, "But we do!" They were always welcome by the bigger kids in yer class who went outta their way t help 'em in any way they could 'n make 'em feel right at home. Nobody was gonna do anything, t anybody, t diminish their chances of gettin' everything they possibly could outta such an opportunity, even though some hardly came much past yer knees.
Yer body said, "Gettin' close." Sendin' out signals, "Better watch it. DANGER!" Tired! Exhaustion was settin' in. All brought on by the continual frustratin' struggle of tryin' t pull off learnin' in such a negative, rigid, decadent system, battlin' things that didn't need t be battled, jus' chucked, cursed. You were pushin' yer body, mind, 'n spirit as far as they could take it, t the ultimate breakin' point, t show 'em a way. A way where they didn't hafta drag students, but let 'em shoot forward of their own volition. Step outta the way 'n make everybody happy. In a more positive environment, you'da had more energy. That was important now. Could ya last that last, critical, all out, everything, third year? Could ya finally put it all together; pull it off? One shot! Maybe yer last! Everything about that school system was so damn negative, savin' most kids 'n parents. It was life 'n energy drainin' jus' thinkin' about it. Oh well, bleak! So many depressed 'n discouraged teachers 'n kids drained of incentives. Incentives that could be instantly given back to em but were withheld, stamped out, denied. And you thought you were depressed. Teachers literally gave up, cashed it in, 'n went back t the States 'r wherever they came from. The mate commented, "If you go, just tell me where so I can find you." Shit! So much energy, talent, 'n powerful drives goin' t waste 'n you in such short supply. This situation should not be permitted t exist, ever, anyplace! The world
can't afford it; such waste, jus' t perpetuate a doomed, spirit-killin' system of a few insecures cravin' control, sameness, 'n mediocrity fer all.
CHAPTER 39
However it turned out, this was it, the third year! Neck 'n neck with the death rattle. The final hand! It was there all right. A greatness that would send all but its seekers cowerin'. The time had come. Dammit, Plato, move yer butt over; yer gonna get some visitors wrapped in small packages that you've never seen the likes of. Look fer 'em on a far off plain, ready t take over where the gods left off. The seekers finally arrivin'. Before this year is out, the pen will be laid t rest. There is no one startin' point on this third year, as it all happened at once; so jump right in. Nothin' will be clear, of that we're certain. It all started off with a short, get acquainted, straight truth, introductory proposal: "Those of you who wish t try yer hand at testin' yer mettle 'n walkin' with the best, not in jus' this city, state, 'r country, nor even in this present world, but in a world that may not yet exist, there is a way. Could be! Maybe! 'Bout as close t a sure thing as
yer gonna get in this lifetime, though, at seein' what yer really made of. Personally recommend ya don't even consider it. Do not deceive yerself.. You are absolutely crazy, insane if ya take up this offer, but fools if ya don't!" With this we could begin t understand each other. Now a look at what those brave souls were about t step inta. Here's how it would be broken down: Higher principled thinkin'; all inclusive, everything labs; readin'; cryptograms, logics, 'n brain bogglin' puzzles; music 'n the arts. Up till now you'd presented kids with the personal principles, characteristics, study patterns 'n interests of those that constituted the best, mediocre 'n worst students 'n adults worldwide. It seems everybody kinda fits inta one of these categories 'r groups. Here's how it was broken down. Right on the bottom of the pile were the spoiled rotten slimeballs, deceptive low-lifes, terrorists, mafiosos, scummos, sickos, Big guys, the less than one-percenters, political n religious power hungry extremests n thug types that nobody on this earth wants t have around, now 'r ever, who'll get their way, preferably over yer dead body, unless they stand a good chance of gettin' the crap beaten outta them. Basic kid communication. Especially down here in South America. Real Clear! Generally, anybody that pretty well only has themselves on their mind. Applicable in school as disruptors all -- whether students 'r officials here. Yer Basic psychopathetic tendencies!
More examples: The banana company gang. Even up here in the future above the strict limitations of the GATT treaty, theyre clearin the few remainin coastal rain forests down here fer overproduction n creatin more Watts everywhere the banana blight hits. And that "behind closed doors" thing in Rio wasn't nothin' more'n a handful divvyin' up the last chunk of indian 'n his ways. "Keep 'em likkered up! A hunk fer you 'n a chunk fer me." Also, remember that lowlife way back in Central America? Well, the community now lives in fear of stabbin's, shootin's, robbery, drug violence, 'n organized child prostitution. Ahhh! Did we ferget SIDA? You folks out there probably know it as AIDS. Everybody now locks 'n bars themselves inta their cages, except him -- smilin' at the helm, though he's lost two of his own t drug overdoses. Seems the wrong people again got locked up -- the victims. And again, recall them religious vermin that came sneakin' in through the sewers? Well, the fruits of their labors are the destruction of the once stable 'n organized family unit (members hatin' members). Banana republic 'n any other cheap thug dictators love 'em: fightin' 'n squabblin' amongst themselves over insignificant, dogmatic trivia, with none of that teachin' the poor how t read, write, feed themselves 'n protest against abuses of human rights nonsense. Though their preachers sure weren't above enjoyin' the good life -- down here in poverty land -- fulla all them "vices" they'd
harangue against. Likewise, all wantin' desperately t slip, sneak, lie, anyway they could, across the border t the seed of corruption herself America!. Salivatin'! "Americans go home (but take me with you)." Seems like that's where every sperm that ever met an ovum, 'n lived t tell about it, is headed -- "America"! Want more examples? Seems these low-lifes have come up with a unique
solution, down here, fer unloadin' all the illegally poached, protected n any other fish, saturated with toxic chemicals from the government's n manufucturers profitable sale of tons of the world's worst prohibited toxic pest control chemicals -- not t mention loaded with parasites from the officials' n vested interests pig farms: sell them t the tourists through their (the wealthy officials') restaurants, along with unloadin all the uneaten plate scraps on the next batch of tourists. Everybody's happy --poachers, officials. Is there anybody else? Continuin right along. These officials n foreign exploiters have other equally as unique solutions, down here r anywhere, on how t deal with any sensitive materials on fish migrations, location of protected trees, etc. that any fool researcher lets fall inta their hands. Officials within any wildlife conservation, environmental, 'r tropical forest departments get real creative in dealin' with any "urgently made available funds" -Swiss-style.
Heres one youll like: Remember the poor campesino sendin his kids t college? Well, they got educated n chucked n sold out the ol man n his property t developers so they could get what was rightfully theirsfast! Trees, monkeys, birds foolish ideas of a foolish ol man.. Thought youd like that one. While we're in this neighborhood, here's a little hands-on experiment you can do; surprise the dickens outta ya. Next time ya cut loose with a particularly hardy one, a dump, that is, don't flush it down, no, sir. Fetch it out 'n dress it up in a little gray suit, all proper like. Set ya back some who ya see settin' there a-gawkin' atcha -- prominent folks, all. Higher, maybe! Senate? Line a bunch up. Hold yer own board meetin'. This give ya a better idea of this bottom of the pile group? Ready fer the mediocres? These were those that do whatever it is they do,
speak n think fer someone else (makin' parents, teacher, preacher, etc happy), includin' livin', 'r relivin' their lives, dreams, 'n goals. Basically good folks, but followers of the letter of the law, who consider others within their own acceptable boundaries -- social, political r religious ismers --not entirely self-centered. Here r anywhere, good, lawabidin' students. The top of the heap, the higher principled thinkers standards (bein good students, though not always the top academically, but those who have risen above bein' mere followers of whatever prevailin ideology is bein harpedpulpit, business,
philosophical, political r whatever-- n operatin' on higher principles that benefit all mankind 'n rational approaches t changin' laws) were now, here, put inta application 'n recognition with a PASS that gave them freedom t practice their higher ideals. A note. It is from this group that true democracies arise. Again, individuals makin individual decisions based upon reason. This is the ultimate threat of extinction t the bottom-of-the-heap power-hungry sickos. No bootlickers need apply. A kid ain't left with a little piss 'n vinegar, time comes t say a thing, it may not come out. Best he practices some, usin' his/her button on home court. (i.e. These are those students 'n personnel that the system chooses not t recognize.) You are amused perhaps at this quaintness? Please not t be too hasty with yer, "Noble backwoods wisdom", "Unpolished folkloric intuition". "Crackerbarrel vernacular", indeed! Remember them Ph.D. lobotomies? Well, the large Far Eastern school that catered t the educational needs of the multi- national community, pridin itself in havin' the most highly educated staff ya could imagine, piles n piles of Ph.Ds, had fer many years, been forced t pay baksheesh (i.e. protection money under threats, from a ring of extortionists who worked at the docks, 'r they'd break open 'n slash the staffs personal housing shipments from the States 'n leave 'em on the docks t rot).
But this time when the leaders of the gang of thugs, one bein' a woman, met the newly arrived teachers in the head administrative secretary's office at the school, as usual, with her present, demandin' with their usual brazen impunity, it was surprise time. (The mate had been summoned t the office immediately earlier 'n had been confronted with the extortioners demands by a Hindu woman in a room by herself, t no avail.) They had hardly finished, 'n the other teachers were already quietly 'n meekly acquiescin' t their demands when their self-assured smugness was shattered inta a bewilderin' look of disbelief when out popped a lone, loud 'n clear, "Up yers, sucker! , in three languages, along with the digital -- the universal sign of "screw you!" (To clear up any fine points in communication 'r misunderstandin's in the translation) --much t the horror of the administration who'd been kowtowin' t these "acceptable ways" of doin' business fer years. Well, extortion is extortion, 'n a feisty Sikh neighbor gal got the wheels movin' - more horrors t the administration -- complete with the CID (Central Intelligence Division) who'd been after this ring of thugs fer years who'd been givin' their country a bad name, up till now, with no help 'r cooperation from the Westerners who quivered 'n quailed under the threats of losin' a few sheets. Might be somethin' in that. You milk it fer a while. But, theyd at last found a live one. Sure, lets rack em up, fellas.
Seems they weren't aware of the first step in learnin' t live with yerself. "Things don't get in the way of principles." Probably won't find much truth hereabouts either, loiterin' around up t its knees in ripe chicken shit. Careful, time comes t say a thing, it may not come out. This higher-principled group of kids kept their buttons in workin order! Continuin right along here: Near five hundred years of accumulated university trained academic intelligence present in this tiny drop-in-the-bucket, worldwide staff with degrees up the garbonzos, not t mention the past loaded with erudites, 'n all they could manage t muster up from their combined I.Q. quotients was a meek acquiescence t the demands of cheap, illiterate thugs. Chew on that one awhile 'n see if it don't come up a little dry t swallow. And you don't think lobotomies have their effect? The way things are lookin', we're lucky anybody signed the Declaration of Independence! But lest our minds be overly clouded with mere insignificant 'n superficial acts 'n deeds 'n lose sight of true intent, please t note the real, underlyin', heavy commitment t integrity that radiates in the midst of these academic giants. Do we dare another awsome here? Yes, sir! "Anyway it comes out." Stutterin' 'r "Up yers.".
Seems any protest is socially offensive; Big Guy, that thing in high school, here n later worse! Oh, by the way, the goods were delivered instantly and undamaged. And now back on the subject.
As you had no idea of how t attain the greatness that was within a child, it was given t the child t think 'n dwell upon it, t occupy their thoughts. Respect was meted out in relation t the responsibility you assumed fer yer actions! So, ya see, RESPECT now stands at last joined with its mate RESPONSIBILITY exactly twenty years in the stalkin', through countries, peoples, mansions, huts, diggin' with languages 'n gut feelin's. A warning! By the gods, don't even consider strikin' this bond, enterin' inta this pact lightly. This is no toy! No game! Too dangerous fer adults. Kids only! You think we jest? No creed 'r dogma stands this test. You definitely stand alone. The ultimate individual! Right now a handful of kids are steppin' out, fully countin' the price. Don't make the mistake of followin' 'em. Hell! You tell 'em, Gandhi. Truth within' yerself. Matter, anti-matter stuff. Poof 'n there ain't no more you! You think you got problems now, strip away yer games, cloaks 'n deceptions 'n see what kinda hollow soundin', droolin' babble comes out. Be the talk of the ward, once you look inside yerself 'n find nobody home! "Who am I" 'n "Searchin' fer yerself" now takes on a whole new meaning. A student observation: "Strange! Administration seems to think that honesty and integrity and respect and truth only apply to students." He wasn't even inta higher thinkin' 'n he figured out that they were right down there with the mafiosos 'n thug types.
A point: If yer thinkin' this candid observation only applies here, think again! This phenomenon appears t be inclusive of all countries 'n races, worldwide; as teachers, students, 'n parents, from over fifty countries, local t private schools, voiced first-hand experiences from "Dunderheads" t "Disruptive Tyrants", all attemptin' t establish their little dynasties of narrowness, with few exceptions. (Though there were occasionally a few higher-principled, non-self-seeking positives, until they got chucked, that is.) A few countries 'n systems have taken measures t minimize/eliminate these questionably necessary, disruptive influences by totally eliminatin r subjugatin' them entirely under the influence of teachers 'n relegatin' them t custodial duties (i.e. insurin' necessary supplies n materials are available, but no policy decisions, threats, hirin'/firin', evaluations, behind closed door things permitted). Something t think about, gettin' in touch with the rest of the world, teachers, parents, 'n students alike. Anyway, through yer well-established, underground network, you expanded this t other classes, Kindergarden t sixth grade. Immediate student 'n teacher acceptance. Soon there were over seventy kids functionin' entirely on higher principles, with the rest followin' in pursuit, each knowin' exactly where they were functionin'. Self-centered slimeballs became scarce, as responsible people got freedoms, real freedoms; 'n it was no longer socially acceptable t be a turd. No more laughs in it. The truth was out, at least among the students; teachers were happily catchin' on, too. Students were
recognized 'n accepted by all fer exactly what they really were. It was not only top kids from round the world, but now many students were seein' no function in games 'n untruths of any kind. But the couple heavies -- 'n again, the world will in no wise be ready for 'em -were, one, without contest, RESPECT; and, if ya reached the PASS, it showed that someone on this earth, albeit only a weary, new, "official", under-the-table, policy creatin' Keeper of the Gate, respected ya enough t give ya real freedom of choice. The KEYS! And with the KEYS came that chance t learn 'n use yer time wisely, t learn more 'n be all that ya could be, which of course was number two. Nor were the students, especially those in yer class, unaware of the struggles, battles 'n frustrations that went on, 'n the tenuous, under the table, black market, shadow society nature of this whole affair; n that, if those on high ever realized its total extent, they would, as the kids' newly acquired gringo phrase put it, "Shit bricks!" n wantin' t take years evaluatin', criteriaizin', 'n lookin' at it until it disappeared. Kids could live with the truth, as well as many teachers 'n personnel, exceptin', of course, most kiddie psychologists who still used toilet paper t wipe off their fingers. Try it any higher up though, 'n you'll be dealin' with "mafioso 'n thug types." It grew 'n expanded, kid by kid, each comin' quietly 'n tappin' at yer door-Athens, Alexandria, 'n America -- seekin' greater depths of learnin', understandin', 'n
truth, as ya knew they would years ago sittin' in a concrete cell 'n in the cool dark.. A shame the truth has been degraded t such a stranger in our midst. What it amounted t at the beginnin' of the third year, as ya looked out at this social infestation before ya, was that there were those, in this scurrilous lot, that would rise t higher principled thinkin', along with those striving t cooperate (as any can at least make the effort), that must be accepted 'n recognized as human particles. The criteria had always been the same. All a kid needed was the will, 'n with that he could create him a new creature. Again, yer premise was, "A kid that wants t learn, ya don't hafta teach him. A kid that doesn't, no amount of instructors will be of any assistance." The real bottom line was the American way, "My God, man! You can be somethin' what ain't never been before. A new species!" Nope! Ain't jus' bein' what's been; No, sir! Greatness is only fer those who want it. But alas, there was that small minority group here, as well as everywhere else most likely: those of wealth 'n power, above any law 'r even the will t cooperate, entirely immune t prosecution of any kind fer anything 'n free t molest, degrade, 'n insult with impunity. To quote a nine year old, "I can buy and sell teachers anytime I want. They're only dirt!" In this country there were teachers, amongst others, gettin' their pink slips 'r pushin' daisies t verify that this was not idle prattle. Tender, young, buddin' sociopaths of sorts. Hence, Sub-human particles seemed so convenient, so
handy, so scientifically 'n sociologically correct, 'n so right a handle. Kiddie psychologists 'n counselors flocked by the hordes t cuddle these, "Pobrecitos. So misunderstood!" Sub-human particles, nice ring t it, wouldn't ya say? More on these vermin later. By the third year most of the bugs had been worked outta the labs n the long suspected, n now fully verified, X Factor was fully brought t play. It was more philosophy than math, science r any one thing--a state of mind altering phenomenon. Example: Two entirely different fields incorporated into one lab altered and enhanced the outcome of either one individually. This altering and enhancement grew and increased in direct proportion t the number and diversity of fields incorporated inta one lab, until, as in here, where pursued t the nth degree, a much different, clearer and more complete, intertwining whole was viewed, as one would expect of an extremely intelligent entity perceiving from on high. In a sense perhaps, a sort of omnipotent all knowing might now be mathematically calculated and created. It really does appear that the whole is indeed much, much greater than the sum of its parts and the ol Gestalt has now risen from a very peculiar goat t the key t new creatures. As usual, no lectures. Words, at best, only somewhat served t function within a society. Creativity produces that society. Labs quicken those necessary creative juices. Developin' independent responsibilities was always before workin' with another 'r in
any group activity. Learn t hold yer own so when ya hadda have a partner, which was extremely rare, you could be counted on. Due t the massive amount of work, the kids could not permit any parasites wastin' time. The many that it would take t complete a lab would all have t be within you alone! You, as an individual, were the group craftsmen, artisans, problem solvers, all! All possible prior personal knowledge you possessed --labs; ways of approachin' 'n investigatin'; all algebra, geometry, calculus 'n physics formulas; economics, music, art, biology, geology, nutrition 'r anything -- was expected t be applied. Everything you knew. If it was knowledge that you possessed, then you used it, 'n that was that. No question about it. Final! You functioned on the limits of yer total capacity in
everything, at all times. Thus began the journey inta maximum potential. Ferget the charts, files, 'n records; nor will words be of much assistance, as kids, in general, are jus' explorin', learnin' how t use 'em, 'n adults t misuse 'em; neither one of 'em knowin' what they're sayin', each fer different reasons. Shame words are so unreliable. Seemed like such a good idea -- SPEECH! Nope! Quiet deduction will out in the end. That is, if ya want the truth! Remember, it all leaves a trail -- some more smelly than others, shorter routes that is. Nobody's in the cattle herdin' 'r quickie fix, Band-Aid patchin' business here. No shotgun approach, this. So, ya see, there is more t this than merely bein' the "Walking Encyclopedia" that so amuses those on high. Kids
ain't so gullible though. They know there's a helluva lot more t learnin' than what's written on the page. When they say, "He knows!" that's sorta the end of all the games. Each kid had his loose leaf, three ring binder clipped up on the back wall, open fer instant access t anything, past 'r present. Couple minutes ya could go through twenty different lab write-ups without ever touchin' 'em. Identical answers near verged on the realms of impossibility due t the individual human factors involved in gatherin' data with calipers, scales, thermometers n individual backlog of knowledge n personal life experiences, etc. Course, it was understood that they dug out their own errors in the process used. The kids all knew that it took a handful of times t get the hang of a formula. Jus' practice n get better. Associate it with lots of lab work. Soon come. Other kids could check 'em as well, zippin' through the papers, bringin' the errors 'n weak areas t any student's attention, as they automatically did! We tried t do a different lab every day if possible. Here's a typical lab procedure 'n whatcha looked for. Remember this is entirely individual 'n independent, usin only basic measurin tools n little grey cells only, from gatherin' data 'n calculatin' t recordin' results. A list of math formulas n measurement tables, monetary exchange rates n a world map were the only references permitted. Five aluminum cans, each painted a different color, were set outside. Each kid brought his own cans. Major things ya looked for at this stage: volume 'n area of can, both inside 'n outside diameter, by
calipers; weight of can (mass of specific metal in grams); volume 'n weight of water it will contain (cubic cms-mls-x weight of water) usin' only calipers 'n calculations, no water 'r scale first time; next weigh can n weigh 'n measure volume of water with scale 'n graduated cylinder, comparin' yer mathmetical accuracy; rise 'r fall in degrees centigrade fer all five colored cans outside, every twenty minutes fer an hour; altitude 'n degrees of sun every twenty minutes (straw 'n protractor, compass); percentage of sun, angle of incidence hittin' the cans each twenty minutes; total degree rise fer each color, along with rise per minute, per second; maximum degree rise per minute, per second, fer peak twenty minutes of top absorbin' color; total caloric gain per ml of water fer each of the colors, per minute, per second; n the next day incorporatin light reflectin n filterin materials t calculate absorption by different light frequencies. This bare bones outline doesn't mention the couple dozen other fields 'n disciplines that were also incorporated inta every lab along with each students individual n widely varied life experiences incorporated: music, art, language, geography, finance, philosophy etc. Each new n different lab increased in content: trajectories, friction, different metals, plastics, glass, specific gravities, vectors, forces, time etc; and includin fruit n food analysis properties: decay, wastage, recyclinvalues, worldwide markets, shipping, monetary exchanges etc. Also, all concepts from all prior labs that were applicable were expected t be applied. Example: By half year you would be incorporatin
concepts from near two hundred labs into the new ones. Everything within the total knowledge of humanity that they could measure was done so. As only one example of the many skills in which they were now equally proficient: Usin no measurin r
calculatin devices, other than little grey cells, many could now calculate the elevation, speed, size, direction, purpose of any overhead, movin objectplane, helicopter, duck, somethin thrown. Some quite rapidly, without the use of even paper n pencil, n damn close, too!! You can understand that, cantcha, Jenny? They would record all findings on a blank paper, graphs of their choice, one word, r math formula explanation of process, organized as they wished, 'n have it hangin' on the back wall in their open binder in the hour 'n a half time permitted. But also durin' the same hour 'n a half time, they would complete a few problems from their xeroxed copies of an ancient, concise, no frills r pictures, selfstudy algebra text from way back in the days when we made wooden ships but had iron men. By mid-year most of the kids would easily be up t writin' algebraic equations from word problems 'n tables, t workin' with signed numbers in problems, simplifyin' polynomials 'n all the stuff in between, 'n applying it in daily labs n in all possible walks of daily life. Also durin' this hour 'n a half time, they would read twenty plus pages of whatever individual book they were in: The Return of the King, War and Peace, We the
Living, Siddhartha, etc. This number of pages was on a slowly increasin' scale. The pages read in class bein' half of their total daily reading, which they completed at home, i.e. 20 + 20 = 40 pages per day, slowly increasin. All read much, much more! Also, a cryptogram, if they could squeeze it in. Oh! A point in passin'. Fer all the lab measurements there was only one micro caliper 'n a couple sets of thermometers, one scale, a graduated cylinder, etc. used, shared by all - even PASS kids from other classes. That was important! Maximum use of time coupled with maximum cooperation of limited facilities. No one squawked -ever! They knew what it was all about. Never told 'em! Anyway, more'n Galileo had! At the end of the hour 'n a half, we'd check off on the board the individual levels of completion fer the lab, math, reading, 'n crypto. A two minute check merely so kids could see what others had accomplished 'n where their time had been used 'r wasted. Nothin' more'n that. They got better each time. That was important!. A slower kid merely spent a bit more time. No big deal. Less each time. No memorization r studyin fer tests n the pressure that entails. No lab-work ever went home! No copyin outta encyclopedias this. No teachin r re-teachin were necessary as all skills were automatically mastered, applied in life n increased exponentially. A note: By now it will be common knowledge, t you folks up in the future, as t why the kids in yer classes didnt get sick when bacterial n viral infections swept
through n emptied the rest of the schools. The enthusiasm by which they tackled intense problem solvin under timed constrains, in the non-depressin n stressless situation, activated their immune response systems by releasin corticosteroids t fight infections. We didnt know that way back then, jus deduction; n if were gonna be livin healthy n excitin lives, then depression stress n drudgery cant be part of em. More deduction! If this tack is followed, you will soon see why everybody starts lookin' fer problems. Answers are easy t come by, but a good problem Ahhhh!! Appears
answers ain't the answer here, but maybe the sweat of diggin', wringin', 'n unravelin' 'em out is! Perhaps the goal lies in the pursuit 'n not the attainment. Can there be any hope of attainment without the pursuit? Logical, no? We were goin fer one hundred percent plus, lifetime retention, as the minimum bottom line. Right now, with the incredible mass of diversity incorporated in labs, we were easily functionin n cruisin at one hundred t two hundred percent retention after three years; as input n diversity literally ceased in the followin higher grade levels. The X Factor was now goin wildly off the charts! Pedro, I dont think that some of the stuff we are doing falls into any known branch of science or anything! Replyin, A moot point, child! Claim it as yer own.
Pedrology! Not bad! Not bad! Now be gone with the likes of you, wretch. Scurry off, lest we sic the hounds on ya. Pedro, a Sherlock Holmes oficionado left smilin. As yer understandin very noticeably progressed faster with many fields incorporated, than it could in only one, some, without promptin, had already created long lists of different fields they wished t master: integratin n studyin em together all at once, interwoven. Sound familiar? Benjamin, You see a much bigger picture when you learn it all at once, than to be confused seeing only a tiny part that does not seem to fit anywhere. Benjamin, one of the silent n gentle ones, whose profound thinkin verged someplace between Ghandi n contemporary Noam Chomsky --
reading, speaking and writing four languages fluently n creatin mathmatical formulas t serve his needs in the labs-- was also shot down by our rigid, inflexible sawduster who would permit no thinkin, even if she could recognize it, from students r in her presence! She, like many, could not comprehend anyone functioning above their level of teachers room prattle and increasingly senile n imbecilic texts. passin comment, Stupid woman! It appears, once a critical mass of this rapid diverse input is reached, the previously shackled, restrained n unturned-on brain now starts workin its natural, highly evolved magic n cuts loose; functionin quite similar t a recombinant virus Benjamins
millisecond adjustments, changes n paradigms as rapid senses thinkers meet survivals often harsh present n future challenges. Hence, continually new creatures! After observin the five t nine year old PASS kids that popped inta our class all day long, yer kids, real pros in labs by now, commented, Those little kids are good! You remembered many others, years ago, equally as good at any problem. Everyday you'd pause 'n chat 'n meet each kid in exactly where he 'r she was at in the tale. It wasn't only the sheer volume of the material they went through, but their overwhelmin' comprehension of even minute details, genres 'n passin' incidents that set back the librarians, teachers, reading parents, 'n visitin' top Stateside educators who dropped by. These kids were indeed "oficionados" of everything they read. Sittin' around outside bandyin' n tossin about incidents in a journey 'r tale, 'n one'd come runnin' in, grabbin' a four hundred page book they'd read half a year ago 'n findin' the exact spot, "See, he was there!" Oh! By the way, fer the record, remember there was no homework ever given but t finish off the other half of their daily readin pages n practice an instrument r enjoy an art form: paintin,sculpture, dance, inventin, etc, jus fer the joy, peace n excitement it gave ya. Come on now! Talkin life patterns here! In one swoop you'd
erased the accumulated stigma, from time immortal, of this dreaded drudgery; Learnin was now excitin', with kids hardly able t wait t get at it. Even doin' more! As in everything they now did, it was always more than required, especially in the case with these books. That was no effort whatsoever. Hard t put 'em down.. Parents, that didn't know any better, finally gave up gettin' 'em t go t bed 'r t sleep. Those in the know jus' smiled. Their kids were readin' the best 'n highest thought provokin' literature with a passion: thinkin' about things, deep things; sittin' at the feet of Tom Joad 'r with Pierre as cannon balls go whizzin' by; 'r intently learnin' all that can be learned from Gandolf, Gollum, Kira, an old fisherman, 'r a Hindu wise man; 'r livin' through a wartime escape with other kids; 'r witnessin' humanity's last thoughts at the end of it all; 'r contemplatin' evidence of alien visitations 'r the bizarre genetic experimentation of madmen; 'r escapin' a prison fortress 'r an island on a bag of coconuts; takin' a journey with a pack of strange rabbits 'r a strugglin' young architect fightin' the system; witnessin 'n feelin the stab of injustice, love, hate, fear, horror, sadness; cryin, laughin, gritin yer teeth, bein mad, cursin the sickness that lies within us, 'n cringin; feelin the kicks, chains, hunger, thirst, lashes, salt in the wounds, the wrenching pain of the toll of a loved one, the bitter cold ice of a prison camp, tastin the roaches that satisfy hunger; 'n if you've witnessed any once, they all come alive again -- STABBING! STABBING! FEARING the wild insanity that jerks 'n shakes
you about helplessly as you drink t the dregs all of the humanity that you are, tremblin', utterly destroyed; 'n then ya wander inta A Town Like Alice, 'n all this that has wrenched 'n tormented is as of nothin' compare t the greatness that lies within humanity. As the TV gathers dust! Wouldn't you smile? These are the books that the sixth graders did indeed read, become "oficionados" of, 'n bandied about with ease: The Hobbit The Fellowship of the Ring The Two Towers The Return of the King Papillon Old Man and the Sea Cannery Row The Grapes of Wrath A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich Fahrenheit 451 We the Living Fountainhead Atlas Shrugged
All Quiet on the Western Front Dune Watership Down War and Peace Anna Karenina Hunchback of Notre Dame Pied Piper A Town Like Alice On the Beach Elephant Man Damien Siddhartha The Teachings of Don Juan Bermuda Triangle In Search of Ancient Civilizations The Gold of the Gods The Iliad The Odyssey The Boys from Brazil
The Chinese Nail Murders The Voyage of the Damned The Count of Monte Cristo The Color Purple Exodus Now these were by no means all the books they got inta; these were merely the startin' books they read in common. Here's how it worked. A kid started the journey with The Hobbit through The Return of the King. After that it was up fer grabs as t what was available, as we often only had one copy of a book, but they'd work at it till they'd read works by a dozen authors on the list. By then they'd got a pretty decent idea of what t look fer in good literature. Now they could go back 'n read other works by an author, continue on down the list, 'r branch outwards inta new territory. Some jus' went straight down the list 'n near read 'em all. In branchin' out, they immediately junked the elementary library 'n went straight t the high school n local univeresity library, English r Spanish, whatever was available. They got real good in culling out pulp 'n kiddie novelas (soaps in print, few above third 'r fourth grade level even fer adults, concepts even lower). There was no goin' back once you'd met a dozen of these thought provokin' heavies.
A good guideline was the big three year book chart on the back wall of who had read what. Students from all grades came in t see what the top students here had read 'n thought was good. Impressive! Those "professional readin' deities" who've somehow finagled their way t the helm, as watchdogs 'n guardians, have really led us dangerously down the path on this one, so far off track, depth, concept, ability, quality, intelligence, interest, 'n potential-wise. Better listen t these kids on this one, those that have been given the KEYS, the chance. Because any that took the advice of the top students on that chart took a path that none regretted. Forever readers! Years later, way inta-the-night readers! You knew the books 'n the reason why they would ignite those that read 'em as well as did the French, Russian, German, Indian, Chinese, Spanish, Jewish, South African, Australian, Afro-American, 'n American authors who wrote 'em. Read 'em yourself 'n see if you can find that thread, maybe what it's all about, life, that is r, if ya don't choose this route, wait around fer a dozen lifetimes 'n then, after, say, five 'r six hundred years, let out yer, "SHIIIIIT! Why didn't somebody tell me this stuff in the first place?" A kid could conceivably read the whole list in one school year, which one near did, even comin' in two months late, polishin' off over 11,000 pages with another month t go, bein' followed by a handful of others over 8,000 pages. Right up there with
another quiet kid years ago; only they didn't hafta fight off the Educational System 'n their end products t pursue these strong, natural desires t learn They had themselves a Keeper of the Gate, they did! With kids from all over the school droppin' by yer room fer another good book, no matter how big, 'r t discuss one they were already readin', we came across a phenomenon when tryin' t dig up higher levels of good thought provokin', quality idea books with substance fer fourth grade on down. Almost non-existent in most school libraries, as verified by our librarians, parents, 'n top students. It appears that whoever does the writin' 'r authorizin' as t what concepts are suitable fer ten year olds 'n under is under the notion that their innate intelligence is somehow much lower durin' this time. As the little buggers have not as yet been officially presented with the official big ten cent word, at the appropriate official time, 'n not as yet learned its official pronunciation, they undoubtably can have no understandin' of its concept. Dangerous precident here. Take too many of 'em fer fools, some might resent it. "Pedantic erudites" was the phrase ya used, right Adolph? Go ahead, pick a reasonable concept a kid can't get a hold on without the big official ten cent word. Be hard pressed 'n be gettin' inta some pretty heavy, thought provokin', challengin', 'n attention demandin' concepts that sure would've made Dick, Jane, 'n Spot's life a helluva lot more interestin' t read about.
It appears that it is the word that is alien 'n not the concept. Seems we've got this real bad, word hangup. There was no concept about slimeballs, followers, 'r principled thinkers, that any child, down t kindergarten, had the least bit of difficulty understandin' A modicum of word substitution 'n a kid can be well on his way t becomin' all he can be. Not a bad place t start. We've got some good talent out there; why not let it in? Yes, sir! Another great breakthrough in educational leadership, associatin' mental capacity t body size 'n age. Can we have another awesome here, 'r do you get the feelin' we're dealin' with primates who haven't quite figured out what t do with their thumbs yet, except maybe smell 'em? And you thought the aborigines were primitive. At least their kids can function and survive! Some fourth graders had already polished off all of the four by Tolkien, along with Steinbeck, Hemingway, Orwell, Bradbury, Shute, 'n were workin' on Dumas; 'n a couple third graders weren't doin' too bad either, while one fifth grader was really flyin'; but it was a chattery fourth grader that set us all back: two t three days each fer the four books in Tolkiens, near 1700 pages in eight days. Gettin' used t things like this poppin' up in kids, now 'n again, kept ya afloat on this one. The kids in the class bandied about characters, exploits, 'n incidents with her t the satisfaction of all. More like "Awe!" She'd come in last week wantin' one of the good books kids were readin', 'n it jus' so happened that someone had a few minutes ago finished 'n turned in an often
hard t get a hold of Hobbit-- long waitin' list here. Not thinkin', ya handed it t her,. In her case it wouldn'ta made any difference what book ya gave her, as she did the same with others likewise. She was a recently arrived American kid who'd been sleepin' through her first four years in an unsuspectin', indifferent system. Her new friend was another silent n gentle one in the fourth grade who came inta yer class fer advanced math, applied algebra 'n physics, 'n had also read a couple of the Tolkein books, not quite as fast r as many though, 'n it was her big brother who'd polished off the 11,000 plus pages. More on him later, but please t note who she associated with. They know who they are! A point: While wanderin' around over here (i.e. the rest of the world), ya sure run inta a heap of real sharp young Americans ( architects, biologists, engineers, business entrepreneur types ) all doin' their thing over here, volunteerin', workin' fer the locals 'r themselves. Why over here? Ask 'em."The stateside schools and universities shot our ideas down. Business and industry wasnt interested in anything fresh and innovative. Boards laughed at our proposals. Over here they don't laugh." Same answer, any country. Remember Stanley? Lotsa Stanleys over here. Gettin' pretty tough keepin' the flame alive n flickerin', lest "it be forgot that once there was a spot called Camelot." Jus' somethin' in passin' -- Greatness!
The kids in yer class, those that'd tackled bein' all they could be, stacked up the books that each had read next t the couple, thin, sawdust 'n confetti approach t readin' texts 'n workbooks 'n took a picture of 'em. One stack, two t three feet high, dependin' on each individual reader, gave life, exuded excitement 'n intense desire t read more 'n learn; the other stack next t it, two inches, killed 'n repulsed all desire t read 'n learn more. Andre, "They made those reading texts to purposely kill our minds." Best junk the naive assumption that kids are kiddies 'n therefore incapable of whatever it is theyre supposed t be incapable of; a creeping social debilitation kept alive by a small sect of fretting, doting grandmothers, known as pablum coddle mongers. Wouldn't hurt t start gettin' used t the idea of considerin' 'em in the light of highly evolved, problem solvin', tool usin', creative bein's, capable of higher thought if given the opportunity. Yes, sir! Looks like the witch doctors, with all their rattlin' bones, beads, 'n sacreds, sure missed this one. Seems that's how rails 'n tar 'n feathers came inta bein', runnin' charlatans, frauds, bunco artists, 'n flimflams outta town. Worked then; don't see why not now. Do you? "Shabby! Wouldn't ya say Horatio? Adrift! Amuck in the shallows. A ship with no standards of excellence, frightened, meddlin' Biddy Spinsters usurpin' at the helm, deserves t sink. A disgrace!" "Aye, mate! Turn about and give her a full broadside! And be quick with your work, gunners! Her majesty will not take kindly prolonging the
suffering of such a miserable, unfortunate creature. Shabby! Aye, mate. Shabby! A disgrace to sail under any banner. Fire when ready!" Kid don't wanna pick up a book after its all said 'n done, his whole education has been wasted! These kids had lists fer summer 'n the future. Any book by Shute will keep the flames alive nicely. Anyway, any of these kids pick up Brave New World, 1984, Colony Earth, 'r some ideological mumbo jumbo somebody's hawkin', likely do some ponderin' fer sure, but ain't gonna be sold no bill of goods, one way 'r the other, you can bet on that! Ain't that what it's all about? Fer those of you in the business out there, with not enough sense t let well enough alone, 'n 'r still hell bent on takin' the plunge, ruinin' yer careers, screwin' up the system, and, in general , givin' meanin' t life, even after seein' what's involved in higher principled thinkin', labs, 'n readin', then this should help ya on yer way over the edge. Get a magazine of cryptograms n burn the answer pages. Don't be surprised, if ya find yerself sittin' there frustrated --whimperin', shakin' yer head, slobberin' pathetically in painful, devastatin', soul searchin' dejection, no closer t an answer after an hour than when ya started , discoverin that ya have absolutely no deductive reasonin' capacity whatsoever, take heart, dont give up. Surprise ya how addictive these are n how fast
the students can go through em, which brings up a point in considerin the volume of these that youll soon see ya need. Publishers frown some on copyin their materials n will throw ya in a Gulag fer two hundred years, repossess yer mother, and, worse yet, condemn you n yer family t playground duty fer three generations; but you are a desperate person, remember that, itll hold up in court, plea bargainin n all; besides, yer now legally insane, havin taken this route, along with havin become a teacher in the first place. Where were we? Ah, yes, workin on yer courtroom defense, a desperate personyouve looked inside yerself n seen the pathetic mess, even with all yer piles of degrees n workshops pilin up like cordwood; but youve also seen how effective these cryptos are, n ya need More! More! The students are eatin em up. Besides, you can work
somethin out with the warden, n yer kids, those mealy-mouth ingrates, deserve playground duty; n you can come up with somethin fer yer conscience later. Right now were interested in savin yer mind n, of course, those of yer students. Besides cryptos n logics, throw in any tough puzzles, Barsomian Flu type things, you can lay yer hands on, steal. If a top cryptographer in yer class gets stumped with a toughie n you can work it out by yerself, respect like ya wouldnt believe. Both ways it works. Give no clues r help whatsoever. You help no one by helpin em. You merely prolong n delay the time when each student must begin meetin challenges hisself.
Again, remember that this route is definitely not fer everybody. You take it willingly, unflinchingly r not at all. When exhaustion n frustration would set in, from administrative hasslin, the kids would stir up a crypto n quietly set in on yer desk in front of you. They were always simple n easy t work, like Please dont be so sad. We know what you are doing for us. Then they would smile. And lastly, pursuit of the arts -- playin' instruments, paintin', etc.: daily get involved 'n acquainted with this part of yerself. Those that chose not t get involved with anything above the barest 'n absolute minimal requirement were fer the most part social status seekers of prominent 'n affluent families whose parents saw no need fer this type of excellence 'r encouragin' values they did not share, which, in reality, were actually anti-values t their way of thinkin' These parents knew exactly what they wanted fer their children, 'n honesty, integrity, respect, responsibility n high principles definitely played little part in it. Mothers will stand up fer what they believe. Bless their hearts! These kids' interests were short-lived, dyin' instantly at the first signs of any level of thought 'r difficulty, becomin' quite confused 'n feelin' powerless in these strange, new, highly academic, 'n principled surroundin's, 'n often comin' apart as they
saw themselves gettin' left in the dust academically 'n principle-wise. Becomin' the ruthless, vicious bitch became less appealing 'n less socially acceptable. Kids influence kids, but control adults. With their "friends" driftin' away fast, 'n with their kept puppet in administration not havin' much influence on the Gringo, these kids were left feelin' helpless 'n frustrated, tantrums 'n all, pullin' strings desperately that didn't seem t be attached t anything anymore. The very foundation of their reality 'n faith was shaken, and, "their rich, cultural heritage was bein' threatened." They literally knew of no other life. To them, this was the way, the truth, 'n the light. You don't see this -- that everyone can be bought, sold, 'n has their place -- well, that's where the pink slips 'n pushin' daisies comes in. And, as usual, they would win out in the end. A note: The "desire t learn", a ninety t ninety-five percent majority of all students worldwide along with the resources of their systems, appears t be subjugated t the will, influence, 'n standards of excellence of the minuscule minority of the one t two students per class with no desire t learn. Smacks of Juvie, Boys Homes, "vermins" in the attic. Anyway, not real swift, species survival-wise, 'specially fer educators, this callously 'n flagrantly submittin' the will of the majority t those few with this predisposition t ignorance, 'n that without them havin' a voice, vote in the matter! Can they do this? Legally that is? Extinction by proxy? Do they even have the authority?
In a democracy? Humans appear t have the unique capacity t learn a little somethin' from nearly every critter -- exceptin' themselves. Fer some years you'd been workin' on ways t speed up evolutionary thinkin' processes. In learnin' the learnin' process, t present everything that is known solves nothin'. This only maintainin' a status quo 'n a dependence 'n reliance upon knowin' what is already known, not t mention fallin' inta the same traps. But definite headway was found in presentin' everything as unknown -- labs, literature, etc. Not the material, but the process -- a continual livin' with 'n meetin' the unknown in all aspects of its unknown qualities. Student acceptance of this challenge, within yer class population the third year, was around ninety percent, but adaptability t this approach, among participants, was one hundred percent. Of those that stepped forward t test their mettle, there was a unanimous, "No way!" did any wanna go back t the way it was. This was exhilaratin', excitin', 'n stimulatin', workin' with the powerful hormones that the body used t encourage problem solvin' 'n creativity. You'd lived with 'em fer years. Another unanimous, "I can now solve anything myself. Things I want to solve!" Parents, teachers, fellow students, 'n visitin' administrators were blown away with such intense determination. A battle they fought within themselves, by themselves, for themselves. Nothin' could stand up t this determined force, "A piece of cake!" Though, at times, a very tough piece of cake.
It does appear that learnin' can be considerably more interestin' than the educational system has led us t believe. Hang on fer this one, as it's comin' from a bunch of eight t twelve year old, PASS kids sittin' out on the lawn doin' what comes naturally -- contemplatin' 'n ponderin' things -- as ya wandered by, "We have decided you are first and always a learner. There is no such animal as a teacher. If you are not a learner, you become extinct!" Wheeew! It was here we changed, Student Teachers t Student Learners. Kids from the past couple years continually dropped by, fer books 'n mind bogglers, n commented, "There is nothing challenging up here. All they do is give you pages and pages of boring drills of stuff you already know. This brought t mind all those letters from yer past students all over the world, "There is no place for us. They try putting us in advanced classes, but the work is too easy and not challenging at all," There was also the comment made twenty years ago by the head administrative secretary, rememberin' Lyn, Dan, Jenny, 'n Don, t name a few, "What will all these kids do when they go up to junior high and high school? There's nothing up there!" Replyin', "Why should that all of a sudden be of any concern t the school system now? It never has been in the past. 'Sides, it's really none of our business, now, is it? Whatever they do now 'r twenty years in the future, they'll more'n likely do damn well. Thinkin' 'n ponderin' things out, 'specially when it comes t the education of their kids!"
Durin' the three years only one book complaint came up, besides the occasional parent feelin' left out 'n havin' t watch TV novelas by herself. This was from a newly arrived American mother, whose kid was in another class, rantin', as if the world was comin' t an end, about the moral decline of youth. Her concern was a book that another kid from another class was readin', even though the book had been purchased, read, 'n given t the kid by her mother. If this is confusin' it's because we're followin' a real turd searcher on this one, workin' her own special brand of good o1' American democracy -- freedom t let me make the choice fer you. Didn't work too well down here, though, where they seem t wanna make that choice themselves -- barbarians! The American mother, not havin' read the book herself, had only "heard" about the book in the States from some committee t make books safe fer children, but she knew, "all about books like that. Oh, yes!" with assured, self-indignance. She came in flaming with yer typical witch huntin', local P.T.A., radical zealot, missionary zeal t bring the light t these ignorant third world savages, demandin' that an approved committee be set up immediately t review, edit, censor, 'n make sure all books be made suitable fer children. It was after school, 'n she wanted t see another teacher who had already gone home, a much younger teacher who didn't need this kinda flack. Invitin' her in, she glanced around at the bubblin', fermentin' goodies, 'n let out a revulsive, "Yuck,"
followed by an indignant cringing, as she saw the shelves 'n shelves of books, "What committee authorized the use of these books?" Offerin' her some cake, hot outta the solar oven, 'n some of the peanut butter you were stackin' up on crackers, mentionin' thatcha favored the peanut butter yerself. "Yer right there, ma'am!" She stopped talkin' only long enough t cringe some more, "Uuggh!" Explainin' t her, "What we're really tryin' t do, ma'am, is keep America free from books 'n their influence, that's why we're bringin' 'em down here. Sorry 'bout that Ike. A good idea, jus' never worked out!" Pointin' t the chart of books the students preferred, "See anything there, ma'am?" crunchin' on peanut butter gobbed crackers, crumbs sorta dandruffy floatin' about. Mouth fulla peanut butter, "Whad ya say yer kid's name was, ma'am?" More floatin' crumbs in between masticatin' peanut butter. "Don't appear she's on this chart. Could be though! These are the readers. The seekers! That committee idea of yers sure sounds like a good idea. Save a lotta work that's fer sure, what with the kids havin' t read these books themselves 'n us havin' t rely on what they think of 'em. You know how that is. Unreliable as it is, it's what we've got. Course time helps some, them books that seem t stick around longer. Right now we're a bit short-handed, with most leavin' this country like rats in a sinkin' ship 'n all. That's how it is, right 'r wrong. Here, see what Solzhenitsyn thinks about it, right 'n wrong that is," handin' her A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. She hadn't heard of him. "Hmmmmmmm! Here! Here's a couple
different ways of lookin' at books. Sure you'll find a way jus' right fer you," handin' her Fahrenheit 451. Hadn't heard of that one either. Mentioned another dozen titles; turned out she hadn't read any of 'em. "Short-handed as we are, ma'am, wouldn't wanna send yer kid in t give us a hand? Or you yerself? Help's more'n welcome." She left, without the books! Really didn't have the time t read, jus' prohibited others from doin' so. A point in passin': The majority of parents, bein' positive, only knew how t contribute positively, quietly helpin' in any way they could. The others, the very few, bein' negative, only knew how t contribute negatively, squallerin' with the volume on high. Books seem t really go up in flames around that volume. Look around! See if it ain't so! Course, by the time Mothers of America Against Smut get finished with this book -- stabbin', gougin', shreddin', stompin', masticatin', 'n spittin' on (they get in a big circle all around fer this last one) -- won't be much left fer the kiddie psychologists, counselors, administrators, 'n especially the language 'n readin' coordinators t have their way upon. Hardly enough, the 5,826 Btus of this book, t burn even a minor heretic, but, if ya all get together, ya could put on a decent feed of fried rats; though ignitin' one page a day, a vigil of sorts, will get ya more miles outta yer disgust 'n revulsion "fer a mind still free". The first couple months showed signs of real lastin' grit. These kids had sand! They'da died before admittin' t themselves, let alone anyone else, they couldn't handle
it entirely by themselves. Among the silent n gentle ones there was maybe an entirely different, non-traditional type. Ya was stretchin' on this one, confused! There was somethin' great in that one, Juana, whatever it was. Then there was the possibility of a new kid from the States who'd jus' arrived a few days back. Straight "A" there. Come apart when he first saw what was goin' on. Couple kids talked t him. They knew if a kid had what it took inside, so they pointed him in the way. His life all passed before him as absolutely worthless in preparation fer what, as he put it, "other normal kids were doing in this room," as he stated later. Quiet, liked t learn, though at this stage, he didn't quite figure he knew how. In this class it would be hard t tag anything t association, though near everybody had determined t be the best in the world 'n were well on their way. But there is a fine sense the gentle ones have, an uncanny ability t gravitate t the best of the best. A week went by 'n he had rebounded, jus' holdin' back the tears fer survival, t see if he could in any way possible handle this sixth grade work. No lectures. No answers. Only these entirely new kinds of "applying and transferring everything all at once labs and daily, casual meetings in these labs and in a terribly big and fascinating book called the Hobbit. Meetings where the teacher meets you there amongst all these
strange characters, like he was reallly there; like he belonged there and was one of them or all of them! Everything is so different." It took another week, but ya nailed him. First clue was maybe the time ratio, adaptability fer survival. They all look inside fer strength 'n not t others; near unlimited it was too, this inner stuff! They live within themselves! He had taken, as a matter of course, t adaptin' positively 'n instantly, at all costs, t a survival situation that had taken two months fer others t reach. In these critical 'n threatenin' circumstances they don't whine 'r complain at the impossibility of the task 'r seek self-pity. These were almost clues enough: quiet, unflinchin', inner strength in survival adaptability. The clincher! They literally cannot associate with losers! He knew none of the kids before hand but shied away from the couple phonies (often straight "A" students) right off 'n immediately was impelled t the best of the best. Like he knew n had a scale, thermometer, 'r meter that could measure quality. No foolin' this kid! He now associated only with the most serious kids, the best. Well, sorta! Ya see, there was someone he couldn't possibly have done much associatin' with, as she wasn't around much. A PASS kid, tiny Juana, the first. She'd work outside someplace 'r in one of the libraries every opportunity. She knew how t use the keys! No maybe about it. Is it possible t be a pro from birth? A pro in a world that doesn't yet exist? "To know before
havin' learned?" Years of personal research had revealed there appeared t be some! Naturally was the only correct explanation. She did it naturally! And that's what Fernando did naturally -- gravitated t her! And she kinda permitted it! "She's the best student I've ever met or even heard of, and it's not just her labs either! She's more than all of us put together, inside!" You jus' nodded yer head 'n smiled. Two hidin' behind "A's"; Fernando, ya knew where he was goin', only how fast ya didn't realize. He became the undisputed authority on all the books he read, which was almost everything on the chart. Near all of em! He bandied the characters from Tolkien t Tolstoy around as though they were close friends, 'r as situations arose, quotin' 'em. He wound up polishin' off over 11,000 pages of the greats, twice that of Rennie's in much less time. Towards the end of the year, 'n a handful of more books later, he was eyein' the Gulag. He'd been askin' ya those kinda questions, "Well, kid! It's the kinda book that every person on earth oughta read; but few can grasp its immensity (only 600 pages, the first one, that is) but see things different if they survive. That's a guarantee! Always the same wherever ya open it, heavy. Often wondered if indian reservations weren't nothin' but gulags fer them that think too much. Right, Dekanawidah yer
GREAT BINDING LAW, GAYANASHAGOWA? The Constitution of the Iroquois Nations was penned before few of the 1776rs great, great grandfathers were even born yet, n the Pilgrims werent gonna be arrivin fer another half century. Your Great
Peace, Hiawatha, unitin the nation, we could sure use it today. Hey,guys! We gotta talk! Read it, you folks out there, n see what the 1776rs purposely left out, but their wives, associatin with the Iroquois wives, tried t bring it t more than their attention; though youd deduced this decades earlier as a child! The solution! Juvie 'n Solitary helps ya wonder in that direction some. Yeh! Keep 'em likkered up 'n numb. Hopin' they'll ferget. Irradiate 'em a bit. Us third worlders gets these flashin' insights. Anyway, Fernando was flyin', 'n that wasn't even mentionin' the high quality of his labs, though he still stood in awe of the giant that was in Juana, "How does she do it? Everything is perfect!" Juana? There was no question that whatever it was she had, it had slipped by 'em all, mother included. Whatever it was, it had found its niche in this nutrient loaded petri dish of intense diversity n problem solvin', positive environment. At first it was covered up in the jumble of those strivin' t be all they could be. Then it became evident that she was silently influencin' almost everyone in the class, though she said little of anything. Deduction quickly revealed that it jus' wasn't the best, but also slower students that perked up under this influence. All were positive kids, hopin' t improve. The flip side had a surprise, 'n though it sounds kinda dumb, this influence actually neutralized negative influences t a kinda self-conscious discomfort. Anyway, she was a perfectionist. That fooled most of 'em, especially the high school math/science
departments, when invited t go over her lab write-ups 'n seein' how far a sixth grade perfectionist could go when given the chance. "Incredible!" Not Fernando, though! Second term, gave the seven PASS kids in yer class that were now functionin' on higher principles their blank report cards t fill out as they saw fit. Really cut themselves down.. Motionin' with yer head, conference time, they all piled on yer desk. "When did ya leave sixth grade?" Three 'r four of 'em sorted it out together, fast, "Five minutes after we came in that door on the fist day!" "Look at your math." Pedro: "We're doing the same thing as our brothers and sisters are doing in high school, but we are also applying it in our lives every day. Only it's real easy for us and real hard for
them." "Look at yer readin' material." Luis replyin', "There's only one girl in high school who's reading books like these." They all knew who she was. "How's yer writin' comin' along?" Couple kids worked it out, "We're still writing to the world leaders who are trying hard, showing them that we appreciate what they're doing." "How ya look at yerself 'n how others see ya may be the reason yer where yer at now. Yer all holdin' winnin' hands, ace high! Seems ya know how t use 'em, too!" Smilin' "Gimme!" They handed the report cards over so ya could reword 'em. Juana showed no mercy on herself. Unrestrained truth as she saw it. It was there, all right! More puttin' things together time. Even her usin' the deceptively simple-looking but highly mathematically-principled solar parabola (that stymied many a "traditionally
programmed" visiting engineer) every time no one else from K t 6 wasn't cookin' with it, t share with all, almost slipped by. Took ya a while. Slow! She was showin' kids the way things will be, always a twinkle in her eyes. A sprite pixie, leadin' ya, playin' a live charade, "Guess who I am?" She was also at the forefront in our student teacher/learner experience, grades Pre K to three, an hour a day, five times per class. Eight different classes knew all about her lettin' 'em work with science things themselves. No teacher influence. They loved 'n respected her, beggin' her t come back again 'n again. Ya never interfered 'r visited whatsoever. They pulled it off by themselves, 'r they crumbled by themselves. The word is they! Teachers stepped aside also 'n were amazed how she quietly created a calm. No lectures, orders, shoutin', 'n no problems, along with another teacher comment, "She doesn't use words much, does she?" It was becomin' increasingly less subtle. Positives thrived 'n negatives were neutralized in other situations, also. Jus' wasn't yer mind pullin' another dummo on ya. Other kids excelled when workin' with these little kids, but they all knew! She wasn't the top mathematician 'r top reader, but there was somethin' hauntin' in the words of that kid, "She's more than all of us put together, inside!" A little somethin' cute thrown in here: Once when she was between books, undecided, you'd plopped down a short, amusin' work not on the list, as was yer habit at
times like these with students. A short time later she quietly mentioned, "We are the rats, aren't we?" Again, a tidy bit of deduction there, right Sherlock? Hercule? The book? No great mystery there, but the quick, intrinsic insight? Only cute? It was durin' this time 'n t the day exactly, when you'd finally made the decision, that she came over on one of her visits t class, "The labs take a lot of time; and there are other things." She had taken the words, no, the thoughts right outta yer mind that ya had been musin over lately n were gonna present t her that very mornin. She was right, there are other things than merely completin' three t four years in one. (A half year really.) "Keep up the readin', 'n other than that, you are yer own creature, sweetie!" Jumpin' up 'n down, huggin' herself with squeals of delight, plannin written all over her gleaming face, ya were thankful there was still a little girl in there someplace. She had four months left t explore, create, lay the foundation fer her destiny, 'n what turned out t be that of a lotta other kids likewise, when she received her wings. She became mother t all the over 70 kids who entered the world of higher principles from other classes. A PASS kid always introduced any new ones themselves, freedoms t whatever. You kept outta it. Their world; let them create it. Out of the which, phenomena occurred when they found out that they weren't alone. You could usually run inta a small group of 'em studyin' together quietly in one of the libraries 'r
discussin' somethin' of importance t them out on the lawns, third t sixth graders n often high schoolers, a half dozen of 'em completely at ease amongst themselves. What they talked about, when given this opportunity t use their time wisely as they saw fit, you wouldn't believe, no matter how long you've been in the teachin' profession 'r however many heads you've shrunk. So we'll jus' leave it at that. They were now the most respected kids in school, by kids 'n teachers alike. They had risen by themselves honestly, a universal value! The school had an emergency once where the teachers had t be summoned t the office instantly. These little children took over their classes n all was calm. It had taken awhile, but you were now gettin' a glimpse of what you were lookin' at. Silently she had not only shown everybody what kids could do if given the chance, but also how t do it, leavin' all she came in contact with possessin' a definite, positive sensation of havin' viewed how things will be up the road a piece in the future. The high school, who'd already got a decent taste of kid potential with the last couple batches you'd sent up, were now made absolute believers all, even the staunch, die hard, grill 'n drillers, when viewin' the "unprecedented level of quality" of this "ONE". And then another popped up followin' in her steps, n then another n more, as ya plugged them inta their highly evolved functionin level. They now saw the overwhelmin' advantages of tappin' this hitherto unrealized energy 'n quality; though they were up against the
system 'n their own lack of trainin', they had a start, a tiny guide! It did indeed look like humanity, with its love of problem solvin' 'n creatin', had a small benefactor helpin' it get back on track, as the creator! There wasn't anybody in this power-hungry, crazed establishment, with all their Ph.Diddley degrees in skilled manipulation, control, 'n deception, struttin' all the arrogance of title 'n position they could crow, that coulda done what she'd done, even if they had wanted t! And you think this kid ain't got somethin'? Listen up on this one! Her mother noticed it, too, right after the change. If you were a person who wished t see the good, even though the hope was now flickerin' weakly, she literally charged yer batteries 'n shot ya right up inta higher principled thought 'n actions, but those who didn't possess this seed of hope fer humanity, 'r even the desire t look fer the good in people, were, as mentioned earlier, neutralized inta a state of discomfort, not only around her, but others like her. The more there were of these positive individuals around such a negative individual, the greater the discomfort. The innate want t see the possibilities that lay within a child was entirely lackin' in these negatives who had weaseled their way inta positions of power 'n authority, seekin' other things than the greatness that lies within a child. "Suffer the little children...," was now more in line with, "Let the little children suffer. Juana could enter a class of out of control
disruptors n there was instant calm. No words! Teachers wanted her back for the peace she created in their often chaotic world. That she was no longer unaware of this influencing ability is clearly evident by an incident, a manifestation of another phenomenon (the which ya had also been personally investigatin' fer years 'n were now, likewise, hot on its trail), as it was now occurrin' with some regularity in this atmosphere of intense thought. Perhaps unkown t themselves, a few kids were at times communicatin' without words. If somethin' happens out of the ordinary, it does not necessarily imply that it has never happened before, merely that this is the first time that it has been observed t occur. Novel concept, that, observation! Anyway, someplace in all this they had really cut loose 'n sought within themselves. Nothin' was said of it, though some musta been aware of what was now goin' on. Vanessa had it all, but this was denied her. Broken, cryin', she knew no sympathy was t be expected 'n none given by any. She had recently thrown her hat inta the ring t test her mettle, but her work was still showin' that she wasn't risin' t any occasion, still only goin' through the motions n playin' the games. She sat at her desk, sobbin' in jerks, starin' straight ahead through reddened, wet eyes fer ten minutes before Juana walked over 'n stood silently before her, lookin' straight inta her eyes fer a full minute. Nothin' was said 'r changed in Juana's expression. She knew the time had come
fer Vanessa t lay aside the games, but she must do it herself, alone. Juana had stepped inta dangerous territory, standin' there starin' expressionless. She was on one side of a world entirely unknown t her friend, 'n Vanessa knew it. Vanessa slowly looked down at her lab papers, that both she 'n Juana knew were shabby representations of a sharp mind, hopelessly bound 'n functionless by years of social manipulation 'n game playin' that fooled no one! The phenomenon was occurrin' right before yer eyes, 'n there were some kids that likewise knew jus' exactly what was goin' on, too. Juana was communicatin' t her without expressions 'r words. She'd pulled it off! Right up there with bacteria, possibly trees! She'd willed Vanessa t shed the games 'n face herself. Juana then stood beside her sayin' nothin', but rewrote a few sloppy formulas on her paper, 'n then as silently as she'd arrived, walked away. Vanessa reworked her entire lab over anew. She was a good girl of exceptional skills, only she didn't quite know how exceptional. Surprise time, somebody we thought ya might like t meet. Vanessa entered the world of higher principles at that moment when Juana was standin' silently before her starin' inta her eyes. There is no doubt they met someplace where words cease t function. Whatever transpired, it musta been one helluva cold shower fer the daughter of a high pressure lawyer, known by all fer her bite 'n manipulative skills, shreddin' all who came inta contact with her. Well, almost all!
Juana was not about t lose her best friend 'n an exceptionally gifted person all in one whack. In that moment she musta fought desperately fer her friend. Ya see, there were two who knew of her worth. The silent n gentle ones don't hang around with losers -can't! Vanessas mother made a comment shortly afterwards. It was good. She came in often now. As usual, Juana had it all under control. If this was new territory fer the world, it wasnt t her. Old hat! In good hands. Then a whirlwind of almost unbelievable data 'n observation now jarred ya inta a soberin' reality. You had spent so many years lookin' fer 'em, n fine tunin' a battin' average that was now astronomically high! If what ya saw bundled in that gentle little child? Without havin' been taught (for who would there have been t teach her?) she possessed genetic traits much too high 'n sophisticated t be found on our short, gropin' in the caves, evolutionary ladder; unless somethin radical had happened t speed them up. Investigation revealed powerful, dynamic cross-dominant factoring n strong
Mother Carriers in her past n present. Who n what was this child, ya now knew! The new kid on the evolutionary block! Closer t home, you don't think the flight of many of the Third Reich's top scientists down here t South America didn't leave its trail? Wait until ya bump inta a few of its progeny way out in tiny villages. Brilliant little urchins occasionally poppin'
up in the midst of total illiteracy. "The stork brought them." Yeah! The blond-haired, blue-eyed stork! By the third year wed junked all adopted texts 'n went straight t intense library book use, daily intense 'n incredibly diversified math/science 'n everything else labs, writin' world leaders, practicin higher principles, doin daily multiple cryptograms, 'n followin artistic pursuits; n test scores skyrocketed, doin' absolutely nothin' that was required by the deities of rote on high; thus, again, verifyin' suspicions that, the farther a student got from "school", especially in this depressin situation, the more he learned. Right, Marshall? (That about, "A child having to take time out from his education when he goes to school!") And this was only the beginnin', the first low-key step, of the which the students were becomin' increasingly aware. The kids immediately set about helpin' others, kids t adults, t become self-learners. Had the violence not been so great in the country, they woulda been in the local schools 'r amongst the illiterate street poor, near instant literacy, skills, 'n trades. It was durin' this third year, when seventeen out of nineteen of yer kids had pulled out all the stops 'n gone fer the best, that they showed up. They fed off each other, thrivin' 'n growin' exponentially, as they saw each other reachin' new heights, like it was now permitted 'n OK t release even greater energies 'n potentials. Stunned was
the only word for it! Parents, teachers, 'n other students were literally stunned, especially when they saw the whole package, coupled with no lectures, homework, adopted texts, workbooks, threats, pages of rules, guidelines, instructional objectives, 'n almost no equipment 'r teacher! These kids ran on automatic pilot. Definitely no need fer cowerin up their dictums administrators 'r coordinators; real clear message 'n vibes on that one. This was no game they were playin'. If any didn't have that fire burnin' inside, best steer clear, as this path led straight inta the unchartered future of learnin', as testified by some of the top leaders 'n Stateside educators 'n accreditors. One kid, when asked by a Stateside accreditor how he "could possibly get all this highly advanced work done so accurately and completely in such a short time," replied, "In here it's short on excuses and long on doing!" They came, visited, took pictures of everything, from the huge book chart t labs, 'n dragged other visitin' educators down with, "This is what it's all about. Independent learning!" "If you are ever up our way, you can do whatever you want!!" Contracts were offered, on the spot! Even workshop proponents of moral reasoning, "This is it!! Everything all put together into practice!" And, of course, by colleagues -some veterans of many years, from all over, "Christ! These are the big guns!" "Apparently this philosophy of the 'teacher not getting in the way of learning works!" "How do you get them to be so independent? They work with this intensity whether
you're there or not." "I haven't read all those books!" "If I was not physically here and saw this, I would not believe this could be possible!" To the more dedicated n, ashen n sickly, OH my God! What have we been doing all these years? upon realizin they have been usin the cerebral cortex as a land fill fer garbage all these years, decades, lifetimes. A cutie. Another visitin', top-level, stateside educator 'n accreditor, awestruck at the high quality, level, 'n student accuracy of lab work, 'n high literature comprehension -- askin' 'em lots of questions -- later commented, "The only way this program could possibly be attempted in the States would be with the very few, top and most advanced students." Interestin' if he'da found out the students he had been observin' 'n conversin' with were yer low sixth graders, finishin' up their labs 'n readin'. The average n top ones, finished, were now out student teachin' in other classes. He went on his way. Wouldn't wanna shake him up too much. Poor guy might drop a load right there in class -- wasted life 'n all. Remember the Worlds largest congregation of non-believers? It was important t get student/teacher adaptability 'n compatibility here. Could they work with it? Well, it was the students from other classes who recommended, pleaded, 'n begged their teachers, all 'r part, higher principles fer sure. All had positive results. The word was "Instant". "Instant change in some kids that nothing has ever reached!"
Tosay this, in its entirety, would be beyond the ability of most teachers t cope with is surprisingly inaccurate, not that it is not extremely threatenin' not t know, grope, admittin' not knowin'. After seein' what happened t the kids, they definitely wanted in, in a bad way. All had immediate 'n lastin', positive results with higher thought 'n principles. Many commentin': "Why has no one ever thought of using the truth and these natural drives with children before?" "Games! Games! All we've been doing all these years is playing games!" "Respect! Real respect! Who would have believed it?" "Who would have suspected the high level of literature and ideas that students want and are capable of understanding? Certainly not the universities and the leaders in education!" The teachers cursed their lack of prior preparation in academic labs 'n especially the level of reading material kids wanted. Think about it, who wouldnt want more outta life than the Adult Infantile Syndomes, less than third grade level, soaps, pulp,games n commercial TV jingles, if given the chance? And, as concernin' the labs, any kid in any grade, can walk inta any of these labs at anytime; that is, any kid that really wants to. Gave some of our same labs t all grades down t kindergarten. Set the teachers back some, the unsuspected quality 'n diversity in the little wretches. "No gigglin', Sandy! Kim! Everybody's not so quick as third graders." Intelligence by poundage 'n age equates t Floyd, Bruner, Lucas, 'n the
three hundred pound first string linemen of goonball as the epitome of intelligence in any society. And, as concernin' these higher principled thinkers, you say, "But they're only children, and they're entirely too young to make these kinds of decisions. Besides, they need to work with their peers to be socially well-balanced." Dammit! Look out on the lawn! Third t twelfth graders! Every chance they get. These are their peers, by
choice 'n acceptance. Democracy in action! All bonded together by a love of learnin' 'n a desire t be all they can be t help others., These concepts were found t be totally compatible with those that really matter -- teachers, students 'n parents. Eliminated about 99% of all paperwork fer teachers. Got yer attention there! Frees teachers t move about, talkin' with each kid individually about where they're at in books, seein' how their labs are comin' along, keepin' materials at the ready, stirrin' up new, diverse labs, 'r incorporatin' those stirred up personally by highly trained professionals in the real world, outside the limited resources 'n scope of the school system, fer advanced r any kids in any field at any level -- physics t music - once the kid has mastered independent study practices, leavin' both with their evenings relaxed t peruse new books.n pursue artistic endeavors music, sculptin, dance inventin. All positive! An avid reader of great literature 'n learner is whatcha want in this position. Oh! No motivatin' was ever found t be necessary!
Rennie, like Lyn, along with a host of others, had t know if they had it in them t reach their limits in everything daily 'n go beyond. In here tears meant nothin', an insignificant prelude t growth 'n challenges. Academics were merely props on a stage where they could practice their crumblin', risin' 'n crumblin', risin' until they mastered the art. The only way that failure could be guaranteed was t go back t standard, acceptable educational procedures of herdin' cattle. Or pick yer institution... asylum, correctional, aged, boys home... pigs, dogs, sheep, rats... caged, chained, fed, 'r whatever... there is that mentality: EEE-III-EEE-III-OOOO. Fer you educational awsomes out there, the kid's the one that creates. (P.S. Look fer the THUMB!) Sounds kinda cute 'r horrifyingly true! The teacher's acceptance 'n enthusiasm was all part of another ongoing, subliminal recyclin' program the higher pincipled kids were workin' on: t train teachers how t become positive learners 'n readers of good literature 'n strive fer the greatness that was within them. Juana was author 'n ringleader of that movement. The present
administrative 'n kiddie shrink baggage was, by unanimous consensus, deemed entirely unrecyclable. The only hope bein' t channel 'em, those that had basic skills enough, inta somethin' somewhat socially useful -- rakin' leaves, makin' potholders, droolin' -- under strict guidance 'n supervision, of course.
Remember that clue? Now, picture this: a small community learnin' center, with small alternate groups of kids n adults -- low t high workin' together, all with a desire t learn --of all ages 'n independent levels, aided by local talent --business, retired, family folk -- all droppin' in fer short periods daily, workin' together here 'n later in community services, projects, apprenticeships 'n skills. Hard t beat a ready-made, family package like this. Hey, eliminate bussin', poor schools, 'n "vermins in the attic", what with no more attics. Only a clue!? A crime has been committed. Lotsa clues 'n options! Why not try t solve it? "But," ya say, "there's more to school than that." Yet right, there. The creation of boredom 'n drudgery is a massive, complicated, expensive, time 'n energy consumin' industry, involvin' a cast of millions, but not so with learnin', involvin' only a cast of one, takin' on the world single-handedly. One, a near total waste of human resources (babysittin' does count fer somethin'); the other, a maximum use of every human resource possible. With this wiser use of time, kids could see their way t lend a hand at the hospital 'r hold one 'n say "good-bye" t someone on their way out. The more intelligent a child the more costly it is in time, energy n money t turn him/her inta an idiot! The commonest comment, from teachers (new t veterans), any coordinators after they'd seen the potential, 'n even kids, was a horrifin, "Oh, my God!! What have
we been doing all these years?" when realizin' little if any learnin' had really taken place within the school structure 'n that the school had never ever really been a learnin' situation but, quite the contrary, a place t control, resist, edit, 'r censure learnin'. Those that got involved quickly noticed that kids immediately, like a magnetic needle, headed towards higher thought 'n principles 'n learnin', like a natural survival instinct. (We are dealin' with life forces here! School jumbles 'n confuses these natural bearings in direct proportion t their stay at the institution, especially Ph.Ds Doctors of Didology -- "the worser" the longer.) The ready t enter higher principles body count rose t sixty percent in third grade, double that of an average sixth grade n rose t near one hundred percent in grade one. The kids that had reached this plateau, along with those still strivin' within themselves, saw this easily. We had t "erase" school's influence of promulgatin' deceptive, self-centered slimeballs 'n override its "follower" syndrome. What a society -- terrorists 'n bootlickers! Talk about original confusion. It does indeed appear that these kids, when given the chance, went naturally t thinkin', creatin', 'n lendin' a hand. Let it rest at that. Why bugger up the machinery? The closer ya are t bein' daily, hourly, continually, personally, in the middle, surrounded by, 'n interactin' with the horde, the easier it is t realize 'n accept this. It's all ivory tower prattle the further ya get from epicenter. Most teachers 'n parents have little problem realizin' this. Kiddie psychologists, counselors, 'n self-servin', sandless
administrators are the most insecure in a, "no-game, all truth environment", 'n have great difficulty acceptin' their functionless role. This last group, you will notice, all deal with controllin' 'n maintainin' acceptable thought n no longer possess the capacity t function as an individual; existin only as an institutional blob. Those closest t extinction protest the loudest in defense of their non-entity, non-existence. You'll notice these fall under the "Career Options" listing in yer local university: "So you want to be absolutely worthless, functionless, a negative factor to clutter up, impede and obstruct -a tin soldier ready to defend a kingdom that no longer, if ever, existed? Then step right up! Come one, come all! Bondage seekers to power brokers -- humble public servants for the good of the community, children and vested interests, or slice a piece of the pie for yourselves. Feels soooo good. Remember the golden rule: If you cannot be manipulated, who the hell wants you? Do not fool yourself. Sign up now! Learn to be as humble as sin, feel needed, loved. A point in passin': Besides the one Language Arts gal mentioned earlier, n the mate, no others were ever personally encountered on any educational staff in any country; though there were positives on all levels tryin, but it's a big world out there -who knows? If the criminal feels compelled t return t the scene of the crime, it is not so with the victim, wantin' more of the same. For had there been those silent gentle ones present, we most assuredly, would not have this situation, this tremendous loss of
brilliance. Like the man said: "They know who they are." Course theres always those deluded souls, teachers through administrators, wanderin' about with higher thoughts 'n principles, bein' masticated t death by the system. They get chucked pretty fast. Good riddance! When workin' with kids, seems all that's really necessary are those with a great love of learnin' 'n the best librarian available in the world, as these have the ability t stand aside 'n let learnin' take place. As fer the other group of kiddie mind controllers, let 'em take their troubled 'n problem-ridden lives 'n cry on somebody else's shoulder. All they can do as non-contributors is interfere. If you haven't caught on by now, everything is geared towards aidin', servin', keepin' up with the student's rapid thinkin' process, tools t personnel. Anything that wishes t impose the will of one over that of anotherdogmas, isms, the way its supposed t be-- has no business around anybody elses mind. Danger!! Unauthorized personnel! Threat t society. As fer the kids. Well, they've known these things all along. If they really wanna know somethin', they pursue it on their own outside of school. Get real sharp at it real fast with no interference, they do. If there really is a mystical, magic bullet anyplace on this earth, it must be Truth! It has been alluded t, by many greater than yerself, as t when it is known, it
shall set ya free. A light in the darkness t see clearly. Seldom encountered, so ya really don't hafta worry about it showin' up in the school system; Kiddie psychologists, behind closed doors, self-servin' Boards 'n administrators all takin' a big sigh of relief. There are probably some well-intendin' all-knowers hidin' in the cracks out there, that will squawk that this level of education is not fer kids. Let the kid make that decision! There are those that will seek 'n get this level of education no matter how much one squawks 'r forbids it; parents, teachers, administrators, 'n fellow students are helpless t stop 'em. Kid makes this decision, best t be an ally instead of an enemy. Really of no concern t anybody but the kids. Let them vote, decide. Course, maybe there's some that'd feel that this is a totally unique situation. To those, listen up. Have you been followin' this tale? Pick yer country, language, social status, academic level, color, 'r whatever, throw in a little truth, respect, 'n responsibility, 'n see if ya don't come near raisin' the dead. If it can be pulled off here, in the very septic tank of humanity, among putrified, rich kids, there's hope fer all, maybe even your kid. Besides, look at its track record: the slow, average, sharp, 'n geniuses of common earthlings thrive in a no-game, truth environment. Those bein fueled by hunger, frustrations, 'n dreams get a helluva lot more mileage outta this approach and their lives than those only bein' urged on by lethargy 'n indifference -- rich kids. Puts all
on an equal footin'. Money, power, 'n influence peddlers'll likely not take lightly this equality nonsense. Hey! It oughta be done jus' fer the wholesome, sweet taste of vengeance. One fer the Gipper! In a nutshell, if ya wanna take a bit different tack fer yer school system -- not entirely satisfied with its past track record, not quite up t local expectations, churnin' out basic, token quotas of Gandhis, Rands, Kings, Addamses, Carvers, Pittmans, 'n Schweitzers -- 'r merely, on a whim 'r passin' fancy, t take the lead academically 'n principle-wise worldwide, the sixth grade is an important startin' point here. You can work both ways, backwards t Pre-K 'n send out a batch t middle school. Everyone, elementary, middle school, high school t teachers respected these kids fer what they had accomplished 'n what they were doin'. This way a whole unit in a school system, Pre-K t twelve, could well be on its way in three years. With this level of intensity 'n desire t learn coupled with the high academics comin' outta the sixth grade, the school would be forced t seek the highest level of instructors 'n learners possible, who would now be more'n willin' t work with such kids. Though youll soon see youll hafta eliminate grade levels right off, along with entrenched administrations n boards. Know some institutional kids on ice who'd buy inta a package like this! Near clean out Juvie, less the one percent of course. Jus' another option. Though the community center seems where we're goin'.
Once started, what followed was an entirely natural occurrin' sequence of learnin' by problem solvin' -- real problem solvin'! In this situation a kid could go as far as he had the capacity 'n not only as far as the capacity of the teacher r the curriculum permitted; certain insecurities at play here. All step inta the unknown once started: no predetermined views, ideas, dogmas, 'r answers as t what lies ahead. No bendin' the truth, "t suit", permitted in learnin' 'n observation. We gotta keep somethin honest! Nope! Seat of yer pants, skin of yer teeth all the way. No institutional trained lobotomies at the helm permitted. No herdin' cattle, this! But why are we tellin' you all this? This is almost the year 2000, another decade r so. This is the future! No more vermins, drugs, violence, weapons. Teachers need no longer be trained t be police. Schools are now safe, open environments. All is peachy. Free at last! And t think we owe it all t acceptable educational policy. But, jus' in case you can't eat off the floors where yer at, ya might try this scenario. It's called an "option". Do we still consider those these days? Hey! Why not put it t the ultimate democratic test? Take this book, after it's been read by students, staff, 'n parents alike, place it on the podium by itself, with all present in a filled auditorium, 'n put it t a vote, in public. None of that closed door, board meetin' stuff. The more freedom, truth, 'n knowledge a people have, the more they will be of one accord 'n one mind. Specially t seek more of this stuff that dreams
are made of. Again, along with R 'n R, peace fer all hangs around in that neighborhood someplace. A little 23rd century homespun there. Yer crazy if ya do," but ya know what the flip side is!! What's more, no deep, mystic, oriental mumbo jumbo, this -- all yankee ingenuity!! One critter sortin' it out! Do the experiment yerself 'n see if it don't come out so. A helpful hint: Before chuckin' junior -- the closer t diapers, the better -- give him/her a paper 'n pencil 'n then yer, "Go out there and get it all, Kid!" Make all the difference in the world. Anyway, what difference does it make? It's all over! A half century through
cells, beatin's, sickos, 'n crazies, all takin' their best shots, years of wanderin' through jungles, forests, deserts, swamps, islands, 'n oceans, all takin' ya apart piece by piece while thousands of creatures watch, equally as curious, perplexed 'n confused, as ya wandered by, patched yerself up, 'n wandered on, through more fevers 'n deliriums, speakin' odd languages as ya fall off, outta, 'r inta more cliffs, trees, holes, 'n oceans, trackin' critters 'n poachers of critters, explorin' every known avenue of science 'r anything, 'n some that wasn't, inventin' 'n creatin' t learn the symptoms of this madness, this, "always more!" A mad delirium all? Hell! Who knows? Seekin' 'r escapin'? Surely not the rat! Us scribblers in drivel, we can do that! It was finished, this quest, that may have been as much a search fer #17's on this earth; 'r maybe a plot t conquer the world with ideas not yet existent. A conqueror in
absentia! Conquerin' 'n rulin' through the minds of others. Mad? Isn't that what it's all about, Amanda? Who else would think of, let alone pursue, such a grandiose scheme? Vision? A child seein' clearly, through the cold steel 'n concrete of a tiny cell? Alone. Alone? A leader of ghosts of musicians, scientists, artists, leaders, creators, tyrants, 'n giants in thought as followers. You laugh? Or maybe it is their plot? You laugh again, though maybe not so assuredly, eh? To laugh at all is t laugh at all that is great in humanity. Perhaps the sleuth 'n the villian are indeed one. What think you of that Sherlock? Methinks you pursue yer own shadow in Moriarity. The evil 'n the good are indeed one? Could this be possible? We'll see where our minds take us on this one, as that will be all that exists after the body long turns t dust. Real long term here. Insane? Lunacy? Perhaps. Perhaps not. We will be long deceased. All that will remain will be an idea. Greatness in a child! Jus' waitin' the chance! Win, lose, 'r draw, makes no difference. The idea will still be there. Slowly workin' Yet workin'! Ya get old 'n crinkly 'n ain't got no more buttons t push, all ya got left is old 'n crinkly. No exclamation at the end of the statement. Life is jus' another run on sentence, on 'n on 'n on 'n lest ya could think "islands". "Islands of alienating, not yet existent technologies, concepts and incoherences," floatin' around all over the world, hundreds of 'em!
Again, the years had finally showed ya where home was: a thought, a wish, past, present, 'r future! Yes, sir! Likely be there fer sure! What with the elements 'n such tryin' t make short work of ya, how many times has this yarn almost not been completed? Sure ain't no War and Peace, though it don't lack fer characters. Left most out though. Hadda! Some so strange! Wheeew! Gotta keep this thing believable! Merely a sketchy outline, fer the sake of brevity 'n jus' gettin' this Tomfoolery down. A chance from an exhausted, battle weary, near dead, farty o1' Keeper of the Gate was all they needed. And what about that "ONE"? The KEYS! She knew what t do with the KEYS! Deep inside, from the beginnin', she knew! What we've waited for. This is the child that has led them, the seekers of greatness. Creator of her own destiny. If ya can believe in anything, believe in this child, in these kids! All make a way in front of them. There's greatness here. Hope fer all kids in them. What all kids want. Who knows, boys, maybe these are those quiet n gentle individuals that have evolved t work together, individually united. They can sure do that. They've taken the journey together. They know the path t greatness. Jus' waitin'! This is no mere theory anymore, probably never was! To know 'n see all is difficult, even stretchin'. But this is known They exist!! (3) And they're mightier, sharper, more determined than ever suspected. Some may be even packin' their own BEAST!! There'uz sign! One fer sure!
The quest is finishedl! It's over 'n seems o1' #17's number's finally up. Kiddie mind controllers all breathin' a sigh of relief. Out of it fer keeps this time. It's been one helluva wheee, world! Sign out time! Sickness, fevers, chills, exhaustion beyond exhaustion. So weak! Can't shake it. Pushed yerself too much this time. Ignored the warnin's, but ya hadda know! Can't think straight. No more! Too many games. No more energy t fight 'em. Nothin' makes sense. Only pain, fevers 'n chills. The end is near, Angelina. Ya pays yer dollar 'n ya takes yer chances. Yer dealt yer hand, 'n ya plays it best ya can -- no excuses, right? Don't know if it's been this wild a ride fer you, but at least ya got a shot at it, kid.
CHAPTER 40
With the death rattle at yer heals, ya slipped inta the jungles fer one last moment of peace before enterin inta the food chain; or maybe it was now your turn t come t rest in one of those small, nondescript, vegetation covered cemeteries youd
encountered in the densest of jungles n far away islands n whose fading epitaphs read like a strange world registry of wandering nomads, lost souls n perpetual seekers, whose crude headstones n markers slowly eroding away t leave no record of their travels, passing r even existence. Now realizin how foolish this pursuit, of no interest t anyone, had been, in the light of much more important issues left unfinished. But
the months of peace, once again, breathed in life, unexpected; n soon ya were in the thick of evil again, chasin down polluters, extortioners, illegal animal traders, pedophiles, n the rapidly emergin body parts traffickers.
With as mentioned earlier, the only reason most go inta politics bein t function above the law n use existin laws -- fer the protection of mothers and children t perpetrate n hide their atrocities, these guys pretty much enjoyed open season on innocence. And, if a fellow was t follow appropriate rules n guidelines of apprehension, these guys were totally immune t prosecution. The mind immediately said, Higher court. To the people. So, one at a time, representatives in all walks of life, from near half the countries on earth, were presented with these two questions t ponder. What would you do, as an individual, knowing that you had no legal recourse whatsoever, if you were to be apprised beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your neighbor, with whom your children have had years of contact -- kids playing, staying over, babysittin -- was comin down here to get it on with little children? Reactions t this very personal situation varied from clenched fists t grittin teeth. Few words, but off the scale energies were bein generated. And #2, The Millimeter Law: If a heinous crime is committed, is it still considered a heinous crime if committed one millimeter over? Drawin a line with yer foot t represent a countrys border. Reactions were similar, except fer lawyers. They immediately expostulated the perpetrators rights n jumped t their defense. Seems civilized society is still at it, Lockin the victims up and settin the criminals free. To keep society safe from victims. Interestin -- same victims too!
The results? Near instantaneous t even faster in some cases; as in yer dealin with public relations and international businesses, transportation, n tourism when confronted with the Pedophile Express n contrabanders emanatin from their countries. These private sectors pushed through instant legislation n public educational enactments. Gets personal n the law goes fer the jugular, ever time. Through yer contacts, youd even entertained the idea of anonymously sendin back in the act videos t the perpetrators home towns, t the local PTA, church organizations, etc., as a colorful surprise veiwin of the countries beautiful landscapes n simple life, sprinkled in with their minister, doctor, lawyer, r public official forcin a tiny child t perform the worst of obscene sexual acts. The transportation of this form of solid, one hundred percent guilty, no weaslin outta it, in the act evidence bein illegal, but might get the PTA frothed up some. The flock might go fer the matches, but, alas, illegal likewise. Also, in a sick kinda way, it might even incite n arouse latent things jus a waitin, lookin; like TV r preachers always harpin on it. Anyway, the outraged locals here n the other independent investigators demanded, No more spiritual retreats, big-time swindlin tele-evangelists rippin off the poor locals of what little they had--pesos t land titles-- by false promises, developers promotions, businessmens conventions, r sick tourists. Any preachers down here and in indian populations had to now receive all their support from their home countries, could no
longer burn books, nor stop poor Indians from goin t school, or discouragin them from seekin free medical attention --by law. Kinda put an end t their prime directive, ie keepin the indigenous n poor, illiterate n exploitable Their numbers plummeted; n when the different tribes received autonomy they cleaned out the rest of these parasitic vermin. Oh, they were so righteously pissed! This really got underway when the locals started cleanin up prostitution with the tourists. Guess which tourists, citizens from what country, hotly contested these actions with the local government? Because of this n SIDA (AIDS) these vermin branched out inta the more virgin countryside. Soon poor desperate farmers were pimpin out their wives n children. Got hotter when they arrived on the Caribbean side n saw the beautiful African descendant women. But, it really didnt explode until they got a-hold of their beautiful, innocent little children. This was really the beginnin of the Pedophile Express. Fer the records. At times, busses of children a-waitin fer em. Some places even at the airports. Organized at all levels. You out there! Stop this stuff -- NOW!! As concernin the hordes of evangelical preachers that pop up under repressive regimes: all dictators, includin the past one down here, loved n highly valued them as strong political allies; as they fought so much amongst themselves they could never pose any united front against any of his barbaric policies, ie extermination of
indigenous peoples, fer one; and could be so easily manipulated t whitewash any of his (their) atrocities; and, if any individuals posed any resistance t any foreign enterprises exploitin their lands, they would, fer a few bucks, fer the work of the lord of course, have their followers locate n inform the soldiers, government r private, of their whereabouts, n that would be the end, fer the public good of course, of any indigenous rabble who wished t protect their lands n families. Tidy arrangement, wouldncha say, n all fer the work of the lord, t boot. A note: It just wasnt males comin down here. There is an increasing number of females, likewise, lookin fer a male thats not fat, wheezin, reekin of cigarettes and stale beer, n a mind not shot with drugs r hisself n could still get it up. One gal, middle-aged, on a small island, has herself a stable of very handsome, virile, Caribbean males t keep her serviced. Shes not alone in her pursuits. All ages lookin. Anyway, the males come down lookin fer little children, n the females fer a man. OH! If yer gonna contract SIDA, it will be from a nine t twelve year old child. Facts! Priests are droppin four times faster worldwide. More fact. But, in the end, no amount of
education, rehabilitation, posters, r prison threats could stop the pedophiles from flockin down here in hordes. On the islands, matriarchal societies, they now just bury em in the ocean, n in larger cities they take em on plane flights over the amazon n
chuck em at 20,000 feet over the jungles. Seems like a natural evolutionary solution. Anybody out there see any problems with this? No? Thought not. Disgustin materials comin up. Please feel free t puke, hopefully on those responsible. Though officials will protest it vehemently, who else has the facilities n the professional talent t perform the volume of intricate organ transplants? Look around. Kids are brought up live! You work that one out! Lots n lots of money will help ya go figure. A lawyer gal down here looked ya up t help locate a sixteen year old orphaned girl shed befriended n whod recently got ADOPTED, n quickly disappeared off the scene. Existin laws, stateside n here, fer their protection, had made it impossible t trace her, n, unfortunately, the worst of fears, her parts, like a stripped, stolen car. A lawyer guy she knew was gettin' real rich, real fast! You were seein the era of one-stop shoppin centers fer children, legal r otherwise, comin! A question: Why go t all the trouble of transportin children from all the way down here? Any kids missin in yer area? Somebodyll snitch n open it all up. But, hey, kidnappin children, chopin em up, n sellin their parts cant be much. Yet, some doctors are refusin. Reversing stating donor t stating non-donor on I.D. has helped some! Remember, his aunts wine, n not wantin a second helpin of gringo? Well, Carlos was now through university, n high up in the countrys health department. He
was dealin with foreign, agro-industrialists calloused disregard fer life n now dropped by very depressed. The usual approach fer both small n large agro-investors was t expropriate the local water supply-wells, rivers, r even tappin pipe inta the national emergency reserves 'n by the time they got done with the water, super saturated with pesticides, fungicides, nematocides, and herbicides (mostly prohibited) would release it fer community use. The end products of usin this wide n contemporary investment portfolio produced basically five products. First, a crop -- vegetables, flowers, fruits, ferns -laden with highly toxic chemicals n profits destined fer unsuspectin Stateside markets. Second, lots more dead babies, children, mothers, miscarriages n jelly babies, cyclopoids n thalidomide-type, birth defects n mutations n organ failures. Still not a problem down here. A few bucksll somehow make it all right. Third, death t all animal forms -- natural soil organisms, bacteria, fish, birds, n land, river, n oceanbased mammals n reptiles. Four, rapid plant mutations. Example: The investors, wishin t eliminate all potential plant competition, will spray. But, some plants from each species survive n return very rapidly in a more resistant n slightly different plant form. The northern investors havent yet realized they have four plus growin n now sprayin, seasons down here. Not t worry! Soon theyre back with different, more
powerful n more illegal herbicides. This process continues until the remainin plants are resistant t all known forms of herbicides in a very short time. And, likewise, the newer genetically mutatin on purpose chemicals are doin just that mutatin' everything! The resultin, rapidly evolved plant forms are interestin n quite similar wherever this high-tech, investment portfolio is applied. Fer some, the stalks and limbs will resemble a tough n flexible Rubus Blackberries. The thorns will be replaced with thousands of long, needle-like spines loaded with a neurotoxic venom -- wasps n bee sting, anaphylactic shock stuff. The leaves will produce a violent skin irritatin olio resin similar t Rhus (poison oak types), but will sometimes, also, burn. They can reproduce by bud, spore, seed, pollen, cuttins n runners t start with; and are also sun n shade tolerant. They withstand fire, drought, long inundation, the worst of soils, n are now almost impossible t chop with any machinery, n they migrate rapidly. The process, now working, appears t be either extreme rapid evolution r some type of devolvin regression t something ancient n very primitive. In either case a rapidly recombinant, survival mode creature with no competitors climbs outta the abyss. AIDS in plant forms. The same process was workin in algae, bacteria n viruses. Be comin t a park, pasture, lawn, forest, pond, r river in yer area soon. A note: Remember, deep tropical rain forests already have their own natural bacteria n viruses that take their deadly toll on intruders. And, fifthly, but not leastly r lastly, lots of good will all
around. Add em up n ya can see why they love us so much down here.
Oh, n not t
mention, the elimination r rapid mutations of reproductive organs affectin the sexual orientation of any critter--MAN or BEAST!! Seems home lawn n gardeners are right in there too, castin their lot with the large agrochemicalers (the new Mother Naturers), affectin your lookin strangely at your neighbors peculiarities. Well, Carlos, who now had t travel with armed guards on these investigations, had spent two years buildin up one case with over two hundred violations against a flower exporter -- lots of chemical deaths all around -- only t have the perpetrator, durin the trial, address the judge with lots of bucks n hear, Case dismissed. Carlos: We can do nothing. As in cases of this nature, We need your help. A minute conferrin with the council n out popped, What country? Carlos informed ya. A smile was all he got, along with, Give me the files! The international radio announcer gal, havin met with the NGOs outside Rio fer the first conference on world environment was on her way t the international conference forum in Huairou, China, chuckled as ya handed her the files with instructions on which delegate t give it to. Soon after, Carlos dropped by, He is gone! So fast! How? Lookin at him and grinnin, Told his mother on him.
Remember those questions? Well, This country hadnt as yet enacted the Millimeter law, as their neighbors had, but prosecuted this scoundrel without it. They were outraged n soon forgave the national debt owed them. The smile is in reference t an international maxim which hasnt yet reached the States, as the media is under strict control by a few high testosterones. If, at any time, thirty percent of your elected officials are women (preferably mothers and not just females whove groped around down there n found their peckers n plugged em inta their testosterone) the games start t stop. You folks out there are still lookin fer the best male , honest r otherwise. A dozen politically untrained mothers, picked randomly off the streets, from all walks of life, will accomplish our hopes fer peace n justice worldwide. The mate fer sure, fer one. If ya dont think the mother of yer children qualifies, then maybe she married the wrong man! Its coded genetically. Keep it simple! Words dont work, especially listenin t em. Remember the children playin with their toys? Oh, that country? With over fifty percent elected female representatives, thats an easy one. Again, maybe you folks out there arent supposed t know this? Carlos would drop by n announce, The fishing is really good over there, referring t a community r area. The legal gambit we played with jurisprudence. Remember the fool? Well, in a few months the fool would return with every facet of
the very soul of that community. They would prosecute only those ya wished. They all liked the idea of not lockin up the victims in tiny cells. By now yer word r a signature was all that was necessary fer legislation. Life down here, lest it become boring, was also sprinkled in with scams on banks, credit cards, n land deal sales-type things n more bacterial, viral n algal infections, all headin Stateside. Like that E. coli strain years ago. Right on time! As it turned out, most of yer colleagues in the vast underground network were brilliant no-nonsense females from all over the world, very comfortable! Not real smart t enter this intense arena with games on yer mind. A peculiar note: wherever we lived r went -- country, city, village, forest, r island tent -- all manner of animals from dogs t giant shrews always showed up: homeless, injured, r otherwise. All bein more than welcome, n calmly, without fear, plopped themselves down n adopted us; though they avoided other human contact with a passion. Guess us third worlders gotta stick together. All this probably seems more confusin n garbled than ever but, if ya want rational thought, youll have t go t the mate. The gal thats been taggin along all these years. A critter in her own right, principle-wise. The incredibly poor, fearful of strangers, local n Indian children dearly loved her; openin up as they wouldnt t anybody, family included. Hours daily by the tent r in villages, teachin n sharin
lifes sorrows n joys n lendin a hand freely. Sharin her little with seventy charitiesnative education, business starts, human rights, legal aid, etc. Always tryin t salvage jus one more, in a long line of jus one mores, of those who had no one t speak fer em, on her way out before her petals fall into the crest, and there shell find eternal rest. Like those brilliant colleagues, this was the path of empathy, touchin of humanities less fortunate, they all chose t travel. And, they do make all the difference! Ghandis, Schweitzers, Mother Theresas, etc. Her kid also. And look what they got
stuck with fer a travelin companion. A rat who maybe never really escaped from the sewers of society. Appears we got ourselves a real Beauty n the Beast, here, folks. On a more perplexin vein: Those invites, Come to our country, now near covered this earth education, energy, conservation, reclamation, n on n on n on. All wantin t go straight t the future. Skippin generations!
CHAPTER 41
By now you could easily identify any elected public officials ( in any country ) under the influence of developers n special interests, especially after near a half century of tryin t explain housin principles that werent yet in dusty texts (P.S. Look fer the hunk of brown stuff all over their noses.). With many other countries now offerin carte blanche -- codes n special interests be damned -- it was definitely lookin bleak fer any Stateside bureaucracy ridden implementation until recently on one of yer occasional visits. Met some great folks that was doin some interestin things way, way back in the hills. The state even has a clause in its agricultural constitution lookin fer anyone who could create water from other than ground sources. Well, that was easy, as youd tried t explain the numerous options so many years ago. Huh? But, none of these would be necessary. Not how much ya can use, but how much ya can personally clean up fer yer own reuse. Remember that R n R path?
The site, 36 parallel, was on the top, steep-slopin side of a soilless solid rock mountain, makin it theoretically impossible t do anything. Well, no great shake! Havin lived with the impossible, along with yer students, over a hundred fields, many of yer own creation, now came inta play. Yer mind quickly spit out a dozen models, complete with varied life-support systems. One, youd developed fer an outback hospital in Africa n creatin a complete community in Central America (the bloodbath revolutions had put that one on hold) seemed the way t go. Ya decided t go pre-B.C. tech, so as not t create too much bewilderment amoing the elite erudite rabble. You and the mate did it all in a few years, while commutin back n forth from South America; with nobody -- builders, engineers understandin anything. Watchin pitifully confused, as it all worked. But . . . but . . . but . . . this cant possibly be working. Sandy! Kim! Betsy! Take these poor guys n explain all this, will ya! Jeez! Predetermined conceptualization: programmed learning n answers t problems that dont exist. Whos runnin this show? In an era long ago, this is what youd proposed n now it existed, as it just as well could have back then. Think early 1950s on this one. Ready? A minimum dwelling unit, complete with life support system fer a family of four: a 20 x 30 twofloored dwelling with 10 x 30 south attached sealed greenhouse-condenser, plus ten foot green boarder. This equates t a 50 x 50 maximum land possession necessary --
1/22 of an acre. With it bein easier t change yer environment (word not in use back then) than t heat n cool yer house, youd tried t explain ambient (again) regulation. This coupled with a bit of solar (what was that?) would aid in the 1F t 2F (no centigrade either) winter daily regulation. Reversin it all in summer. The followin equation, youd stirred up, in yer early teens , workin in the fields, many years ago, seemed simple enough at the time, but. A mass will give up r retain its caloric value in relation t its mass ratio t environmental fluctuations n seek a natural pulsing equilibrium. Example: A fifty gallon drum of water outside will have a pulse extreme greater than one inside yer back closet, without heatin n coolin. The environment has been changed. A well-insulated house with a southern window exposure can be made t pulse within the extremes of 60F t 80F seasonally. The constant fluctuations of artificial heatin n air conditionin only disrupts n stresses yer bodys mass water comfort seekin zone thermostat by forcing it t extremes of compensation. Like migrating birds with no place t go. In a nutshell, ten drums of water (fifty gallons each) stacked by twos in the back center of yer foundation chimely (a chimney that goes no place n emits nothin) will keep yer house pulsin at 60F t 80F all year, in all but extremes of conditions. No more of that foundation on the ground nonsense. House needs t be elevated some. Any excess heat is quickly absorbed in this cool thermal mass but causes no significant
rise in mass temperature -- 1F t 2F-- n rises t the top two t four barrels where it is trapped in by walled masonry n gives off its heat t the two top opposin bedrooms very, very slowly. Today, this steel outside n wood inside, carbon dioxide based spray foamed insulated, off the ground house, with twenty foot steel beams five foot apart, walls n floor, is, as a unit bolted (no nails in the house), top t bottom around this immovable tons n tons of cement n water, on a sunken (if possible, but elevated here) 4 x 6 chimney pad structure. The five foot spacin steel beamed under 20x 2x 6 Yellow Pine supports, with tongue n groove covered floor creates a slightly springy give that doesnt break bones with falls. Off the ground equates t no carcinogenic radon gas r moisture accumulation, r termite infestation. The natural elements, climate t insects, get the steel n you get the wood. All supportin screwed n bolted structures are left t vibrate n loosen in the wind fer a couple one t two week periods, before final tightenin n steel coverin is put on n foamed. 00 to 90F outside, equates t a very slowly, graduating, unfelt, always comfortable, change from 60F t 80F inside at 36 parallel in a less than thirty 0 days a year location. A few degrees higher on 100+ degrees days. The worst extended blizard n sunless days, a week r so, will exact a 10-2F loss factor, per twenty-four hours, from yer ambient regulatin barrels in the chimely, eventually droppin them
down t around 65 degrees where they seem t hover i.e. 16,000 BTUs per twenty-four hours. This equates t two cups heating oil (thirty days equals less than five gallons), a three foot x 3x3 wood r scrap paper fireplace log r nothin if creative, its easy. Weve burned nothin fer near two decades. The first-floored, half-roof also reflects inta the top tanks, along with a very simple solar heat exchanger on the roof that can deliver, without any pumps, 900 t 1200 hot air on a cloudy day r up t around 1600 if any sun peeks out, fer a very quick charge t the top four barrels. One Day of sun a week will keep the system charged. Cost around $100 t $200 t build the simple contraption. Were also tryin 6 water-filled tubes on the back wall; but they can turn on ya if theyre on the ground floor r next t any living area-- best higher-- n need t be drained in the summer, where ya only have t close a small door under the top barrels in the chimely. With the growth of raised bedded shade trees n greenhouse shading cloth , summer coolin is comin inta expected lines. While yer neighbors are bundled up, payin galling heatin bills, you are prancin about, stark naked, releasin primal instincts. You will soon see there is no bathroom, r need fer one, r any plumbing at all in the house, jus a small, waterless compost toilet sittin pretty in the corner. Yep! You guessed it! No more latrine stains r bathroom messes t clean r leaky, frozen plumbin r septic tanks t fix n maintain. No drain fields either. These highly efficient, non-
pollutin compost toilets may soon be necessary fer all, but fer a different reason. Due t our increasin legume n grazin diet you were producin two by eighteen inchers , ie, grey suitssome are bigger shits than others (two by twenty two bein the record, on an island in the tropics-- Boone n Crocket fer sure) n regularly pluggin up standard flush toilets. Anyway, there they lie, stripped of their gray suits in their final restin, covered in peat moss, sawdust r mulched n dried leaves, awaitin decomposition, t be put inta plantin pots t at last, realize their maximum potential! Their hour of destiny! Then, after decomposition n depletion of their nutrient value, this peat r sawdust is reused t be recharged again by coverin more little grey suits. No need t let sit r heat up: after a month r so of accumulated grey suits put in large plastic leaf container r burlap bags, n plug in short 2 PVC tubes with elbow fer plant seeds n root water with 50/50 water and your urine. Collect any run off n reuse. Have the veggies tested. Be surprised. If ya find yerself cringin, sufferin the delusions of a paranoid t psychotic, sick, shame n guilt based, uptight society, at the thought of needin privacy fer this very natural, dumpin yer load act inside the house, in the compost toilet, put a bag over yer head! Cripes! Some people. It gets better: shower is in the jungley mass of greenery garden n never needs t be cleaned -- ever!
Enter yer totally sealed, above n below, greenhouse condenser, life-support system garden as described in the first chapter, but now incredibly more evolved. The system will produce around four gallons of pure distilled water daily (on 30 degrees day/night temperature difference) from dirty wash water. This we have found is more than enough. As the greenhouse is also the south facin wall, the whole house n the one big, totally open bottom, no-rugged, floor is continuously bathed in a soft, diffused, UV filtered radiation, killin all mold n fungus, lowerin humidity (escapin expandin gasses), cold is not so cold r hot so hot. This also eliminates the need fer any daytime lighting. Walk around pretty good at night, especially on a full moon. And, though they abound outside, cockroaches cant stand this light. No allergies! This will all make much more sense if put in its proper perspective, a twelve year old child layin this out. Order of water use: The half-gallon t gallon per person daily loss factor is recouped by nighttime dew, r ya can use a simple air extractor (OOPS) r evaporation trapped within the greenhouse of salt r muddy water, a small rain barrel, r wherever yer creativity leads ya. Use about a half gallon fer a shower. Next ya can use it straight, after sittin, t personally, individually wash yer daily clothes. Rinse with a few cups. Hang wet clothes in the greenhouse t be evaporated dry n save the water. Use the remainin wash water t mop floors. Next feed this water t yer plants. Been some interestin studies on doublin crops with floor particles. The root hairs absorb the
nutrient laden water, filter it up t be transpired through stomata leaf pores that are now workin fer ya twenty-four hours a day. This moisture is then condensed on the inside of yer slanted r straight walled polycarbonate r single paned tempered glass greenhouse roof n gathered drop by drop. It is rainin ie, condensing, 365 days a year inside, irregardless of any drought outside. Now it is yer turn t step up n take yer place last, in the natural cycle -- drink. The ratio of water use and production should be equal. To not put back equal amounts than you have withdrown puts you on the idiots short list for extinction. Keep it simple, natural n unscented. Whatever smelly goos, gunks, gels, rinses, n dyes, ya cant seem t live without will also be incorporated in yer clothes wash, not t mention in yer food cycle n taste n smell of the drinking water. (No smoking -- as everybody in the household will now have t drink all the toxic condensed nicotene n the tars of the smoke n on yer clothes. Only non-smokers handle the plants -- threat of Tobacco Mosaic disease, famine.) Or, ya could save up a few gallons from yer condensed, dew r rain water n use one of the new five gallon wash plus five gallons rinse per eighteen pound load, Staber clothes washers. But now mother has t wash it all. So much fer personal R n R. Household products, likewise, biodegradable (much are still toxic to yer plants health). Ya keep those plants, yer life support system, healthy. Oh, no credit! Whatever amount of water ya take out, ya put back, NOW!
If exorbitant water use n contamination cannot be stopped personally, on this level, then it cannot be stopped at all. Our maniacal, unchecked, drainin credit on future generations (life) by havin used billions of years of accumulated, drop-by-drop, savings after expenses, water reserves in only a few short years -- often one hundred t one thousand years of willful embezzlement daily per person -- has put the day of sober reckonin in sight. bankruptcy! This greenhouse structure has permitted us t use n reuse much of the same water thousands n thousands of times without the use of any electrical r artificial mechanization (Its like payin fer sometnin that costs a dollar n they give ya ninetyfive cents back), nor have we extracted one drop from any ground source. Not t mention the tons n tons of veggies n pure oxygen by-products of this process, with zero carbon dioxide emissions. Plan on bequeathin this same water t the kid. Bet hes sure gonna be excited bout that. After taggin along fer years n now bein a One cannot merely refinance n start over again after this
molecular biologist, he understands things. Any, clean, rain run-off is caught in a large stock tank n used fer rapid, one hundred percent effective, natural mosquito control by the restoration of dragon flies, aquatic insects n amphibian populations. INSTANT! And the extra, incredibly
nutritious algae, (elodea, etc) can keep a few rabbits producin all the stew ya need. Chickens n guinea pigs like it too. Ta each his individual taste! We have tried, though unsuccessfully, textend the laws of nature t compensate fer the Western, oh-so-necessary, insatiable appetites fer waste, greed, gluttony, contamination, dominion over everything n takin no thought fer tomorrow; but it seems unheeding dumb r death-wishers jus aint gonna be around no more. Though , due to the incredibly high daily caloric consumption of Americans, the green house is now producin 200% plus of what it would take to feed near anybody else on planet Earth ,ie, individual per individual. workin on 400% increase. Getting close. The way things are goin, were just one of the millions of transient species that never really made it past puberty. A gastropod (a snail) comes t mind, that evolved so high it discharged its waste products inta its respiratory n ingestion systems. Unfortunately, were takin most of the other life form species with us, n turnin the earth inta an unfit habitat fer the rest. A good-riddance species. Again, humans appear t have the unique capacity t learn a little somethin from every critter exceptin' themselves! Lets hear it folks, for good ol gullible, Homo idiotus, as he gleefully Extinction! And none too early, But it still may not be enough! Been
speeds on his manical path to self-destruction. wouldntcha say.
Though the foot of soil (now changed t above ground planters) will hold a bit more moisture, saturation equates t death of everything. Cant adjust nature t compensate fer jus plain, bad water use habits. To expand yer capacity only increases yer load responsibility t deal with the excess rainwater that would normally be absorbed where yer `cemented house foundation n driveway, etc. now sits, (yers, not ours) thereby magnifyin flood runoff. A note: The use of water pressure radically increases wastage, worldwide, even when tryin t conserve. So we have none. No big deal. Jus use small hand sprayers. By channelin the condensed water back inta the garden it becomes self-maintainin -- vacations, etc. Yer worldwide, on the spot, studies n fossil records of plant genetic characteristics, that enable them t survive environmental changes, now traveled live back in time, possibly back t the carboniferous era, three hundred million years ago. Dormant genes, passed on survival characteristics, were now environmentally awakened t reveal early forms, cycles, n capacities in this, at times 160F+, very high O2, very low CO2, UV filtered n supersaturated humidity setting. Plants thrived n things, unbeknownst, now appeared, at times; besides bein a great natural modern spa sweat lodge. Some growth rates were incredible; consistent with traits that would have been necessary t continuously support very large herbivores. This setting also revealed the plant forms, past n present, where man could now exist n those that will yet exist,
in our ever-increasin, heatin-up environment, where man shall cease t exist: monitors t our comin n passin. Grasses n lawns are an advanced stage. Think trees! The deep, cool, steady temperature of caves may have been, n will be, necessary. A few characteristics: Among leafy lettuce types, those that had retained deeply buried genes, survived as they had survived before, 140+ wet climates, n went from annuals t perennials n truncated: developed fern-like trunks similar t those ancient ones still existin in humid Central American forests today. One Romaine tree was still goin strong after six years, until it was allowed t sexually mature ( bloom ) n die. Celery trees are kinda neat. Since there is no reason t die, there is no reason fer reproductive replacement as we understand it today. Plants seem t understand there is only so much light, food, n space. Open seed plantin is difficult with high mortality rates under these circumstances. We plant new experimental varieties in the late fall your winter is our spring n fall. It appears, as in yer studies of rainforests n jungles, ya cant reproduce the rainforests without the rainforests. Sex in 140F? Talk about limp! This was like yer finally figurin out how t locate n germinate ancient seeds in South America, only t have them ultimately die fer lack of their ancient environments n forests. A few ancient farmers, heirlooms themselves, verified that this had been their experience n deduction likewise. The quest for ancient survival and adaptor genes
continues n has progressed and evolved at exponential rates, like Moya, now that those ancient environments have been recreated. New soils took some doin t even attempt reproduction. Animal n plant soil organisms must have been astronomical n complicated, n competition fer survival horrendous. Which brings up the Golden Brown Rule. You folks out there know it as the Asshole t Mouth Inverse Ratio Accountability Factor. Where, as the population curve rises, we begin t cover the earth with human biomass up t our jollies -- not bein able t keep it in our pants; n in doin so, we destroy vital links in the waste/ decomposition chain. This shortens the distance, time, n steps that feces has t be converted inta consumables from anus t mouth, n eventually connects, eliminatin the necessity of a tediously complicated natural recyclin chain, creatin a totally selfcontained system. Not one stop, but no stop! You got it! Bottoms up! Cheers! Nature does it. Somebodys gotta wanna eat it. You may have to. Been workin on shortenin the time. Got if down t two weeks after dumpin yer load t veggie production. Its all been testednothin gets by the root hairs filtration system. Better tastin tomatoes in much less time. Squash n melon production is off the charts, with only one small planter producin enough fer a half-dozen families. No more need t go t the store fer veggies. No more need fer plastic, any transportation costs, n not t be remiss, middle men.
Another tedious note. On observin fossil plant remains around the world, complete with leaf venation, showed that the same plant families today, which are heavily parasitized, were not back then. So ya took the substratum apart; a real chore that revealed heavely saturated n very diverse insect populations. Chowin down on your more high protein, beefsteak neighbors n kin was much more preferable, survival wise, than munchin on low protein salad. This lead t goin down t some of yer untouched, down lower, heavily forested area n bringin up over two hundred wheelbarrows of critter-saturated, moldy fungus stuff. This horrendous, natural competition eliminated any mono-crop r any viruses n diseases. Chemicals n soil sterilization only give license n advantage t any single, hospital staff type players t create a deadly disease ridden environment without any quickly arightin competition. Direct waterin of plant scrap juices (blended n strained) n buryin the pulp creates a rapid one t two days, bacterial decomposition, feeden frenzy, disappearing act n like the compost toilet n plantin pots, helps us keep in mind the rapidly approachin Golden Brown Rule. A 4 x 7 steel, highway conduit section was stuck in cement t create a six hundred gallon heat sink t help keep the garden cooler in day n warmer at night n on sunless days n t release the suns energy fer increased nightime n cloudy day condensation; though a few fifty gallon drums would do the same. The tank was also
found t reverse upon itself durin the day, reachin dew point n itself becomin a condenser, walls drippin. But, 120F, at times, is a bit high fer any animal life form investigation. Algae n bacteria, yes. Natural shadin, now growin, may help. The whole starter water system can be filled with a few good rains. Any leaks r spills which havent occurred as yet, impose no environmental threat. Solar heat is also absorbed in the front of the elevated garden, eliminatin the need fer this tank. Rainwater can be stored in a stock tank fer summer outside plants, n fer rechargin the garden, if necessary. It can be smoggy r chokin forest fire smoky outside, but inside its pure. The cool, around 65F t 75F as in the house, evenings, nights, mornings n sunless days, are ideal fer human activities, especially in this environment of very high oxygen content. The plants need the human carbon dioxide content. Also, there are no fleas, ticks, chiggers, bitin mites, flies, mosquitoes type pests, though they abound in mass outside, waitin. A real Pre-Pandoras Box environment. You dusted the original two hundred wheelbarrows with the microscopic spines of Diatomaceous earth t eliminate, by puncturin any plant destructive larvae, and since fer a few ants. None have returned. Been near two decades. A few spiders have found niches where they pick off any critter that comes through a crack r the inside the house door.
As ya now sit recordin this worthless nonsense in 75F t 90F tropical splendor in the skimpiest of attire, against only an incredible encroachin mass of viney, gropin vegetation, its been a bitin miserable 15F outside fer days. With this situation, another soberin reality arises n must needs be faced. With the possible reinstatement, a second chance, inta this proverbial Garden of Eden, tropical isle, where more times than not, here r in the house, clothes impose a great discomfort, both burdensome t natural comfort n reason, how much baggage will common sense permit ya t bring inta an environment where truth n the innocence of seekin it try t reign supreme? There was also a raised 12 x 36 x 6 deep orchard pyramid in front. This was the culmination of naturally applied genetics, ancient, no longer existent technologies n yankee ingenuity against barren rock n the situation we are rapidly approachin. Remember all those old folks youd met, sharin things, Asia t South America, most gone now! The pyramids three dozen, all different, fruit n nut trees, with room fer a couple dozen more, are naturally resistant t everything, even the weather. They never need sprayin r waterin n their blossoms almost cant freeze. (By creatin an elevated mediteranean climate with moderating ocean breezestrees planted around a couple stock tanks) That took some doin! Ya gets so deep inta this creatin knowledge
stuff n it does indeed appear wizardly. Yerself a lookin back, Hot damn! Howd ya figure that out? The electrical system is simple: Use it freely when abundant n wisely when not. Four solar panels create around 35 amps per hour durin an average sunny day. Much less if cloudy; n a 900 watt, house attached wind charger, that has its own mantra relaxin frequency, produces as much on a cloudy, windy day! This will run near anything, except resistant appliances. For more than a decade no more excess electricity was stored than t keep two small 90 amp, sealed, glass pack batteries charged fer minimal night use, but were replaced with two 6 volt, 350 amp/hours L16HC t maintain a slightly higher voltage level when operatin the Staber, 5 gallon a load, washers spin cycle, servin only as a steady 12V source. Freezer is shut off at night. Youll unnecessarily spend thousands of dollars fer ever weakenin battery arrays that will systematically need constant replacement. They also create immense maintenance headaches by tryin t do at night what could just as easily somehow be done in daylight. Jus plug it inta the sun directly! No middleman! Work in day. Read, do family together things, n go t bed at night. Direct steady wind in the darker north, t a heating coil, may be the perfect n the only feasible use of resistant heatin from alternative sources. No house wirin is necessary as all DC voltage is central on chimely. Unplug the house when gone on vacation r t eliminate any threat by lightnin
damage. A biodigester with gas fer cookin will soon be up, along with the solar cooker. One dwelling model youd developed fer earthquake zones, rapid construction, inexpensive -- in both costs n skills -- 'n strength was incredible in these aspects, but showed one unexpected, foreboding flaw. The which flaw was immediately verified by some yer middle eastern scientists friends, who gasped that such a paradox could exist. On veiwin a model of this amazin Structure -- six rapid assembly twenty foot stars of David t create a three-dimension of the said star -- they commented, Nothing can possibly destroy this very interesting mathematical perfection except the hatred that exists for our people! All the piles of inventions n technologies stirred up through the years have all been freely give away t any interested party, irregardless of race, nationality, social, r economic statis -- scientists t strugglin campesinos -- wherever our paths have met on this earth. Maybe jus t keep the crazies n sickos from destroyin em. Run that one by the Doctors of Dildology fer a treat. Thatll rattle their cages. Fresh, wild meat! Wholesome, acceptable sanity was never really that appealin. (Youd tried it five minutes once.) And you, dear reader, thought YOU were screwed up. Anyway, all the principles within this house are all functionin naturally as they have for billions of years by themselves, n can also be fer you regardless of yer
literacy r how many Ph.Ds youve got. No expensive high-tech gadgets t maintain. Frees one t get on with lifes personal interests. Unfortunately though, fer those not immersed in these highly integrated natural technologies, consternation prevailed. Often wondered if early visitin extraterrestrials didnt confront such looks of perplexity when introducin earthlings t their own planets natural laws of physics. Eventually throwin up their hands n givin up r bein run outta town. Theoretically, the ol man could sit in front of the boob-tube n watch goonball n drinkin homemade beer n messin all over hisself til he putrefied; n then the ol lady could quietly slip him inta the biodigester, sit in front of the tube watchin soaps, n drinkin homemade wine n messin all over herself til she putrefied; then the kid could quietly slip her inta the biodigester, trade off the tube fer a library card, a musical instrument, some tools, n step inta the future. A bit of idealism creepin in there. Uniqueness! Simplicity! Pure deduction! is the chatter these days goin round in the, not-so-easily-impressionable, Council. Always knew the lad would turn out. Right, Plato? Hot damn, there you go again, Socrates! But hes the only person we know that ever talks to us and gives credence to our council. How could he not turn out! Dash it all, Socrates! Always safe in your logic! Whereas Aristotle put his trust and confidence in the lads mettle. Piss n vinegar was the phrase you used, wasnt it,
Aristotle? The calm, harmony and concern created herein really aint that bad. Maybe the rat does indeed know a thing or two? Through the bars he sees this. Observes! All that is herein represents only a rough sketch of one of many avenues fer any concepts pursued. Pages would be required t enumerate on the many other new concepts now functionin smoothly. As the mate says, you would need a manual to operate this house. Perhaps like the one that once existed for earth, but was lost or destroyed! Yer past elementary students could do the same, only in areas of their own choice, usin jus their wits n determination, like Leonardo, Galileo, n now them. No dot.com bein necessary. No need t be lookin willy-nilly t ivory towers n hallowed halls. Think creatin creators. Might be a good environment t raise n educate a kid yerself. Go beyond the herd! Near nothin cost of livin t boot! What with one
quarter t one tenth the cost of conventional houses (cost us around $15,000 t build-fer everything) n with all self-built, sweat-equity, we jus erased the concept of mortgages also. But, then again, punchin a time clock, nine t five, may be the limits of yer, creative expression. At present, applyin all this, amongst other things, with knowledge-hungry jungle folks, along with yer usual interested parties from so many countries around the world ya wouldnt believe. Right t the future!
Also at present growin a living house, usin a hundred n twenty fast growin hardwood almendro trees n espalier techniques, r better yet, mahogany-like cana bravo (a year growth time to harvest fer finishing details n initial construction). Near resistant t everything--wind, earthquakes, inundations, termites. Why cut the trees grow em n trade that ol thirty-year mortgate off fer a fifty-cent pack of seeds Anyway, what with no mortgage, municipal fees r taxes on anything yer not usin, think what you could do n have the time t do it too. Dont be the last humanoid in the universe t strive fer yer own natural, potentials; usin yer own inate reason, common sense n intelligence; r maybe yer jus content t acquiesce yer right of existence t another?
REFERENCES AND FOOTNOTES (P. 170) 1. Papers n treatises confiscated 1954 - Age 12 Why bein alone aint half that bad as long as ya got yerself. Wanderin aimlessly n why reason gives it meanin. Forescore n seven fears a Ago Friction ratios on pulleys n screws-drawings n explanations. Various works on physics lots When was the last time ya was ten? The living Housemothers counselors. fossils n
- Age 12 1955
Age 13
- Age 13
- Age 13 - Age 13 - Age 13 -
- Age 14
Is there life extinction r extinct in you?
beyond whos
- Age 14 -
Adolph lives through broken things n spots on the insides of us all. Everybody is created equal n stays that way, as long as they dont think. Why a crook can outthink
- Age 14 -
- Age 14 -
ya, cause thats what he does a lot of. 1956 - Age 14 Religion n Sadists share the same spot with a vengeful god. Higher thinkin is the first t go in a society which means its very important t individual survival. Searchin fer the perfect diddler fer yer child A guide t recognizin queers n kid molesters. Lines that judges police fall fer. n
- Age 14 -
- Age 15 -
- Age 15 - Age 15 -
Pre-adolescent senility Be the first on yer block t skip life.
2. Declaration of Independence (P. 893) 3. Last few remaining entries of personal files. Unlike the fragmented, socially 'r testosterone contaminated genetic capacity programs of many, those of Juana 'n Fernando -- like those of Hoshika, Vladimir, Jos, Benjamin, Sonya, Greta, Lin Che, Stanley, Sven, 'n others (all strongly cross-dominant n mother carriers, by the way) -- came complete, functional, 'n unscathed, needin' only the critical factors present t be switched on 'n kicked inta action -automatic pilot. Some had no real inklin' of their potential -- poor Benjamin. What a
shock! In this gathering diversity, it appears, as distinct n ancient family their origins have shown up.
of incredible of now, four gene pools n
As was suspected, the "SMART" genes, along with the Tenacious Determination factor, are attached t the High Resistance t social 'n peer contamination trait 'r vice versa. They quietly maintain the integrity of their individual uniqueness in contrast t the mass who are always "other people" 'n not themselves --followers, groupies -- 'n very noisy ones at that! In any case, high principles n thought, by birth, are characteristic of this "UNTAINTABLE 'n selfalignin' gene. Without this trait, high academic potentials are dangerously susceptible t degeneratin' inta "unsuccessful men with talent, unrewarded genius, 'n educated derelicts" -thus accountin' fer the high academics at times found in slimeballs. It is within this former group of "UNTAINTABLES, from the humblest t the brilliant, that arise the Gandhis, Addamses, Schweitzers, Pittmans, Kings, etc. They see clearly where others see only sheets 'n haircuts. It is not in their nature t be someone else. As they seek each other out by multifaceted characteristics, a match is recombinant by unique traits, equatin' t tremendous diversity of exchange on contact. They, likewise, also function automatically on the dominant level of knowledge 'n understandin', overridin' genetically recessive fear 'n superstition, literally creatin' a true, personal conscience, in
contrast t one used, handed down, discarded, unthinkin', taught, imposed, 'r somebody else's -- far above 'n beyond old 'r prevailin' fears 'n superstitions. This may account fer the "SMART" genes that appear t get smarter, independently 'n individually by themselves. These "SMART" genes also appear t be what we call "WISDOM" -- parents started really listenin' t their kids. This process ceases t function upon the acquiescence t any ideological dogmas! As yer level of Legitimate Creative Capacity rests on yer degree of functional diversity, this could possibly be the beginin' of THOUGHT: Ya think when ya have somethin' t think about, 'n personal experience lends it its authenticity that it is yers 'n not someone else's (a very difficult, fine point t discern), 'n diversity lends it its degree of validity. Somewhere in all this diversity, along with intense problem solvin', lies the phenomenon of, "the mind havin' a mind of its own." Perhaps no more than one side communicatin' 'n comparin' notes with the other side with all these new lines of communication (new dendritic extensions of neurons) that have been created by these activities. Anyway, a million individual thinkers, workin' together 'n addressin' a single issue, have a considerable edge over jus' one. Good t remember, too much socially acceptable is too socially controllable, 'n control is vulnerable t manipulation. There appears t be a general rule of thumb rearin' its head, worldwide! The greater the tendency one has t be a follower 'r joiner, the
greater the tendency one has t be manipulated by anybody fer "whatever" cause. The truer an individual makes an individual decision based on reason, the truer the democracy -- consensus by reason! All else is mob rule in one form 'r other -relinquishin' by acquiescence yer right of individual integrity t another. It is from these "UNTAINTABLES (apparently all do not have their price) that all guardians of the public trust, presidents t local civil custodians, must arise 'n be selected fer each of his/her unique abilities. Councils would seem t be much more functional, as these folks can really work together individually united. Instantaneous peace on earth! No deceptive slimeballs, hotbloods, fanatics, muddled hype, deluded, personal gain, 'r visions of conquest need apply. They are literally, mother guardians of the earth n her children, that suffer so much today by mindless, irresponsible household neglect (One must be a mother before one can be a leader. Diapers always come before dialogue!), thus accountin' fer the high rate of mother carriers found among them. Born leaders, but more in line with democracy, in contrast t the effects of kings, dynasties, 'n families with their blood lineage 'n all the turkeys that popped outta that. The quality of these born leaders is maintained exceptionally high as they, "literally cannot associate with losers--negatives", equalin' purity by maximum diversity within dominant positive carriers. So much fer the rubbish of racial purity. "FLUSH!!" in So, ya see, the GOOD will always triumph the end: as dominant, multi-faceted
positives automatically, out of their control, seek the same in a match, equatin' t maximum survival potential; while recessive, mono negatives have no choice but t seek the negatives, equaling maximum extinction potential. Simple math! These numerous 'n varied abilities are apparently implanted genetically -unchangeable, untaintable -- 'n coded inta doers of these messages -- randomly -- so no one family 'r line can be destroyed 'n thereby eliminate any of these abilities. Unfortunately, drug use may not only disrupt this personal genetic program, but also totally erase it! A real member of the head then! "I... I... had... a... a dream! I... I... had.., a... a vision! But... but... I... I... can't.., remember.., what... it...was."
They live 'n walk among us. A giant crap game. The aforementioned critical factors employed have been successful in luring these, along with all who wish it, out towards reachin' their maximum potentials; n furthermore, these "critical factors" are not only responsible for but necessary for the occurrence of this phenomenon. Likewise, this scenario greatly reduces testosterone's negative, contaminatin' influence; rather, turnin' it inta a fuel fer ventin' energies inta positive academic potential growth. Unfortunately, this aspect is a message few wish t hear, very unpopular, not only with coaches, but the public. A definite preference fer violence n aggression over academic excellence n any higher thought
reigns supreme A wiseman'd least give it a try, play it 'n see what comes of it. A program, time capsule, vault -- jus' sittin', waitin. Ain't there no curiosity out there? See what it can do? 'Cause whatever it can do, that's what we got! That's us! That's what we are 'n it's loaded with greatness! Fer some a terrifyin' 'n forbidden greatness. But without the freedom t access that which is within us, this species will cease t exist! Warnin'! No attempt must be made t influence with any pre-conceived, dogmatic hoopla, gibberish 'r balderdash, as they will quickly see the deception, 'n once truth leaves the scene, so will they! One appears t really have little t give 'em of any value, except respect! Perhaps the only baggage, inclusive of all ideologies any of us might oughta consider worth packin' inta the future. No great revelations, any of this; simple observation with a nickel's worth of ponderin' thrown in. Kid stuff!
Always doodlin'. A little somethin' on the back burner!
ZOIG NMPYAX PKEFFIVOZKY NYX QGZAW IQIMN KE NAK QEN ZOIFC IX IPOQQIB QEMN KEIZIM QIEF NOMW KDC NMPYAQ DFIM AK MNEW MNIIN ZIV HA KEPQ IMN UX NMPAYAMN HA IFGGEZ QEMN PKEVFAQ UX UFKA
(Only to those who work this out entirely by themselves will understanding be given -- the keys presented and the path opened to learning.)

Who Shall Lead Us?

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Who Shall Lead Us?

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Approximate Word Count: 220,300 1995 #17

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indignation like all common psychopaths.

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