“It is not the the bruises on the body that hurt. It is the wounds of the heart and the scars on the mind.”
― Aisha Mirza
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As I said before, it wasn’t so much that it was a new kind of violence, just that it was new to me. The psychological violence I saw at our brand new and modern John Adams Jr. High in Rochester, Minnesota (the rebel school of 1971) was of an order that I could not have imagined before.
My adult self now tells me that I never saw it as violence, or that I’m now trying to obfuscate my culpability… as I did with my part in the torturing of Reggie in boy scouts. My adult self also reminds me that it is far from new or unusual for teenagers to be so cruel and for there to even be incidents of suicide at that age. I can’t help but feel like I’m being emotionally apoplectic here. I suppose I just need to tell the stories.
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There was a girl in my homeroom. I’m pretty sure now she was developmentally disabled in some way although the school system would not have recognized her as such in those days. She was very short, very “unattractive” and… she was “weird”. She wore odd clothes, carried a briefcase to keep all her stuff and spoke in a manner that displayed an ignorance (or perhaps simply contempt?) of everything we knew to be the normal middle class, mid-western teenage culture of 1971.
The moment this girl (for the purpose of this story I’ll just call her Gertrude) would enter the room, all the other kids would suddenly be in a heightened state of anticipation. They knew to expect some kind of drama every time anyone interacted with her. It might be as simple as saying good morning. Gertrude would only have to speak in her weird voice and then some kids would start laughing and that would set her off yelling at them or telling them off in her odd way of speaking.
But the most exquisite drama would be had when one of the class smart-ass bullies would get into the fun. A favorite tactic would be to find a way to get ahold of Gertrude’s briefcase. This would send her into an immediate tizzy. She would chase whoever had the case screaming and threatening all kinds of retribution. Gertrude was from a very religious family. They were Southern Baptists so when she got really worked up, she would go into this Baptist preacher voice condemning all us heathens to hellfire and damnation. That was the spectacle everyone would hope for.
One time, Ricky Speck (again I’m not using real names here) Ha… Ricky Speck, an odd example of this odd and twisted era in the history of American culture. Ricky Speck was a natural athlete and outlaw hero to many, but to the uncool, the uncoordinated and unwilling to idolize Ricky Speck he was a bully… a total asshole . Looking back, considering the larger than life image he cut into my memory, I’m surprised to find very little evidence that Ricky ever achieved much at all in later years. There is no senior picture if him in the high school yearbook, and although his name is listed as a member of the A Squad on the football team for that year, the photo printed above the names does not match with that list. I now wonder if he even graduated.
But in junior high school, Ricky Speck was still a force to be reckoned with. One time, Speck found a way to get ahold of Gertrude’s briefcase and plant a pack of Marlboros in there without her knowing. He then played on the fact that of course Gertrude was also star-struck, enamored by his good looks and devious charm. Her guard was down and she giggled a bit when Ricky asked her if he could borrow a pen. He knew she’d open her briefcase to fetch it for him. Everyone was ready. The stage was set and Gertrude had been set up. It all went according to plan and the timing had been perfect. Ricky had the entire room howling with laughter as Gertrude began ranting and railing against all us sinners and our homeroom teacher (Mr. Bailey) entered to find Ricky pointing with feigned shock at Gertrude holding the pack of evil cigarettes and screaming incoherent biblical invectives.
Of course everyone knew Speck was the instigator of that “incident”, but nothing could be proven since no one was about to squeal. Mr. Bailey was always lecturing us about compassion for the less fortunate and how he intended to punish anyone caught “teasing” Gertrude but we all saw how even Mr. Bailey was taken aback by her odd behavior and occasionally he could be seen smiling guiltily at our daily little “harmless” drama.
This went on for three years. For me anyway. For Gertrude? I can only imagine.
And it was made worse by the fact that Gertrude had an older brother who, instead of sticking up for his little sister, would use his special knowledge of her particular peculiarities to improve his own social standing with the most popular bullies. Gertrude’s brother would tell them all about the best ways to enjoy tormenting her without risk of discovery. He once put a padlock on her hall locker so the shop teacher had to come cut it off with a bolt cutter. I wasn’t there to see how that went down but I heard it was quite the drama.
I of course (“the good boy”) never instigated or participated in the cruel shenanigans that were a daily part of Gertrude’s time at JA, but I didn’t try to stop them either. One time I did something that led to what I have to believe was incredibly humiliating for her. I was on my way to a school assembly when I saw her waddling down the empty hall toward the auditorium. We were both a bit late and going to be the last two students to enter. As I came closer to Gertrude from behind I noticed an odd-looking trail on the floor originating from her right foot. Closer still I saw the stains on her leggings from her buttocks running down her right leg and soon realized that Gertrude had diarrhea. The trail was from a small hole near the foot in the heel of her tights.
I should have said something to her right away, before she entered the auditorium. But I didn’t. I can’t completely recall my thoughts or feelings at the time but I do remember being very torn about what to do, until I saw that Gertrude was about to sit down. I was a good distance away by then. I had tried to make sure I didn’t sit anywhere near her. But then I realized that all that shit was about to get plastered all over that seat. I doubt very much I was thinking of the damage to school property but I suddenly shouted out, “Gertrude don’t sit down.” She stopped and I continued, “you shit your parts, it will ruin the seat.” Gertrude then looked confused but didn’t sit. She then felt back with her hand and realized that I was telling the truth. By then the entire room had stopped their talking. I doubt many of the students actually noticed what had happened though since they had been too busy chatting and Gertrude simply pulled her dress down under her butt as she sat down.
I felt awful for Gertrude but… Yes, she always responded very emotionally when people pushed her buttons. But often the things most people would think to be the worst, most humiliating things, didn’t seem to faze her. She would rage and rant and tell us we were all going to hell when we would curse or talk about sex, but barely notice when some of her oddest behaviors led to loud, mocking laughter.
Many years later I was visiting my parents house and my father had a dinner party with several of the John Adams Jr. High School faculty, his old school, I asked Chuck Bailey if he knew what had become of Gertrude. He quickly said, “Sure, she still lives in Rochester. I saw her just recently in fact. Funny, I yelled at you kids till I was blue in the face to leave her alone and she comes right up to me after all these years and says, ‘you know Mr. Bailey I never liked you’”.
Ha! Go figure.
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More stories to come…
