As some of you may know, I was an overactive child. The word 'bad' was bantered around a lot, but that simply was a matter of opinion. Because of my overactive behavior, at the age of 10 I was sent to live with an aunt in Shreveport Louisiana; the idea being that she could straighten me out. The States of Louisiana and California are as similar as milk and mud and I bristled at the cultural differences.
I was enrolled at a private Christian school, Central Free Methodist, but was to soon learn that, although it might have been central (to what I don't know), there was nothing free about my new academic institution. I quickly learned that teachers in the south were actually able to beat you like they were your slave masters. I remember receiving one such beating, coming home and telling my aunt only to receive a second beating, (if someone can find justice in this, by all means please point it out to me).
Ms. Wiley
My teacher, the bloated Ms. Wiley, was an ugly, overweight, viciously angry, manless black woman. She spent at least a quarter of the school day napping, and the rest either beating us, or devising brutal ways to administer her punishment. There were several methods she would use:
1. A tree limb (known as a switch) that would be used either on our bottoms, or the palms of our hands.
2. Wooden or plastic rulers, which were turned sideways so that the sharpest, densest, portion struck the palm and you would feel the impact to the bone.
3. Belts which would also be applied to either your bottom or the palm.
4. Wooden boards that were applied the same as above.
Wiley was evil incarnate but she wasn't alone. All of the teachers beat their students and I was often told that I was lucky to have her as a teacher-Reverend Thompson was worse. It was nothing to see students, male or female, with welts on all parts of their bodies. Hands, arms, legs, and even faces were all open for touches, and I seemed to be the only one outraged by this. The rest of the students humbly bowed their heads and took it. There was student in our class named Bruce Wilson who, as a small child, had been hit by a car. Bruce obviously had a mental impairment-he walked with a limp and, because of a nervous condition, would eat the palms of his hands. His palms were always moist and covered with uneven layers of skin. For a while, Wiley beat Bruce's hands and sometimes they would bleed. She eventually switched to putting Bruce over her lap and whipping his ass. There was no end to this woman's brutality. There were students in our class who rarely received beatings-but rest assured a day didn't pass without someone being on the vicious end of Wiley's rage.
The Beat Club
There was a particular group, of which I was a member, that got beat more often than others. It wasn't so much that I was misbehaving, out of fear I quickly curtailed my mischievousness, but I was later in life able to speculate Wiley disliked me because I was from California. Perhaps California was a place she dreamed of visiting, but found it economically impossible. I might have reminded her of her own misfortune so beating me for the slightest offense may have been the way she comforted herself. She would often say to me in the vilest of tones, "This ain't California."
Denise Brown sat at the front of the class and was also a member of the Beat Club. She was a small, honey-colored girl with a sweet face, but an extremely mean disposition. Denise spent most of her time with the boys and could hold her own in a physical altercation if necessary-she had our respect. One day something possessed her to put a tack on Wiley's chair. The entire class watched, but out of fear or solidarity, said nothing. When Wiley sat down, she immediately popped up and yelled, "Oh Lawd!", then searched her blubberous fat ass for the offending object. My crew and I knew better than to laugh, but knew during recess we would celebrate and laud Denise with much praise if she survived what was surely to be a vicious beating. Wiley searched the faces of us students and asked who was responsible-no one spoke. When the recess bell rang, Wiley dismissed the class, with the exception of the usual suspects. John Dixon, Antonio Carter, Denise Brown, Otis Ray Washington, and I were held back.
As we sat silently in fear, Wiley explained that she was going to beat us all until someone either ratted or confessed-I was to be first. Otis and I had been friends since my first day of school and we'd made a pact to never cry no matter how badly we were beaten. I stood up from my desk, looked over at Otis for moral support, and walked to the front of the class to receive my undeserved punishment. Wiley's weapon of choice for this occasion was the switch. She grabbed my hand and said, "I know it was you, wasn't it?" I replied, "No ma'am." WHAP! Wiley brought the switch down hard on the palm of my hand. I stood still, occasionally flinching at the searing pain that tore through my body. I stared directly into her eyes-a blatant act of defiance. WHAP! The switch was brought down again, and again. The pain was unbearable, but my desire to show no weakness forced me to stand firmly planted. Finally, she was done and I returned to my seat and Otis was called forward, then John, Antonio, and finally Denise. The cycle continued until finally, Denise confessed.
I thought that we would be released, but Wiley had a different plan. She called us four boys to the front of the class and made us stand in a semi-circle with she and Denise at center stage. She then grabbed Denise, pulled up her dress, pulled down her panties, and whipped Denise's naked ass right in front of us-Christianity can be a strange religion. We all stood petrified, refusing to believe what we were witnessing. After she finished, with the exception of Denise, we were all dismissed-she offered no apology. Out of fear, none of us ever spoke about the incident.
Brian Chisolm
Brian Chisolm came to our school mid year. Brian was big for 11 and built solid. He was about the same height as Wiley, but she clearly outweighed him. Brian was a cheerful kid who liked to do magic tricks and during recess, there was always a crowd of students around him being entertained by his slight of hand. Wiley immediately disliked him and couldn't wait to beat him. Brian had seen the rest of us receive beatings but had something entirely different in mind. The day finally came when Wiley felt she had a flimsy enough excuse to indoctrinate Brian. Brian stood trembling before her at the front of the class, (we were always beat at the front of the class). He began crying and pleading, I recall thinking at the time how pointless pleading was. Wiley commenced to giving him the beating of his life. After a few strokes, Brian lost it. He grabbed an empty desk, threw it across the room, and went on a terror. He screamed at the top of his lungs and behaved like a mad man. We members of the Beat Club looked at one another in amazement-none of us had ever thought to do this before. Wiley immediately stopped as Brian ran around the room like a Tasmanian devil. A student was quickly dispatched for help and Reverend Thompson came to the room to subdue Brian.
Afterward, we discussed the incident amongst ourselves and eventually we began to fear Brian. No one surrounded him during recess to watch his magic anymore-we believed he was crazy. One day, Wiley decided to test the waters again, and Brian was summonsed to the front of the class. He immediately began winding up-Wiley tried to take control of the situation, but Brian quickly grabbed the upper hand. Wiley struck him once, and what was once fear turned to rage! Brian grunted like a wild animal and tore through the room tossing occupied desks aside like they were empty cardboard boxes. One of the classroom rules was you didn't leave the room without permission-to do so would result in a beating. My desk was right by the door, and Brian was making a bee-line for it. I sat petrified as he barreled toward me like a runaway freight train. He approached my desk, tossed it aside as well, burst through the door and disappeared. The classroom fell silent; it looked as though a tornado had torn through it.
Wiley absurdly screamed at me, "Why didn't you stop him? Go find him." To me, looking for Brian was worse than receiving a beating. Wiley's actions, although painful, were predictable. No one, including Wiley, knew what Brian was capable of, and I, of all people, was appointed to track this wild animal. I slowly stood and looked over at Otis, but he wouldn't look at me-no one would, I was a dead man walking. I looked at the classroom door and, in a strange twist of irony, feared what awaited me on the other side. Eventually, I pushed the door open and stepped out into daylight.
Central Free Methodist sat atop a hill on a very small plot of land. There were only a few places Brian could be. I entered the building that housed the chapel, cafeteria, principal's office, and teacher's lounge. The lounge door was normally open, but now it was closed. I kneeled down and peeked under and saw movement-all the teachers were in their classrooms, it had to be Brian. I went back to my classroom and told Wiley that he was in the teacher's lounge. She asked me what I said to him and I said, "Nothing." She then yelled at me and told me to go back and tell him to come back to class-man, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.
I took my time getting back to the lounge. It felt good to be out of class and for the first time since attending the school, I actually felt free. I wanted to just keep walking and never go back, but I knew that was impossible, so I accepted whatever fate Brian had in store for me and stepped inside the building. Again, I peeked underneath the door and could see Brian's shoes. I stood and slowly opened the door. Brian sat calmly in a chair doing one of his magic tricks. He looked up at me and smiled and at that very moment I realized, it was all an act! Brian would pretend to lose his mind and Wiley didn't know what the hell to do with him. I smiled back and said, "Miss Wiley wants you to come back to class." He stood up, and followed me. Neither of us said a word, but he knew I knew, and his secret was safe with me. Brian might not have been a genius, but he was definitely creative. He wasn't afraid to go against the grain and he taught me something that day.
Eventually, Brian was transfered to Reverend Thompson's class and from time to time I'd see him on the playground doing his magic tricks, but something was different about him. Reverend Thompson was known to be a brutal man and I'm sure Brian's antics were no longer effective. One day Brian's mother ended his misery and took him out of CFM. I was sad to see him leave, but I was happy that he'd escaped the hell we kids were forced to endure.
Kim and the Phone Call
One day a new girl came to our class. Her name was Kim Tyler and she was by far the cutest girl I'd ever seen. I immediately began flirting with her and before the day was over, I had her phone number. Later that evening, I called Kim, only to have her mother answer the phone and scold me for calling. I have to admit it was a rather bold and inappropriate move for a 10 year old, but I couldn't resist-not to mention the fact that, at the time, I didn't see any harm in it. I hung up the phone feeling a little uneasy, but didn't think much of it. The next day at school, I walked into the classroom and Kim wouldn't even look at me. Wiley was no where to be found, and the whole vibe felt weird. I took my seat and awaited Wiley's arrival like the rest of the students. Eventually, she opened the door and when she did, she looked right at me and summonsed me to the front of the room.
"Did you call Kim's house last night?" she yelled.
"Uh, yes ma'am." I replied, both frightened and embarrassed. Wiley went berserk. She yelled and beat me at the same time.
"She gave me her number!" I pleaded.
"I don't care! Don't you be calling any little girls in this classroom, you hear!" she replied as she beat me mercilessly.
"Yes ma'am." I uttered in between her vicious strokes.
After my beating, I walked pass Kim's desk gave her the evilest stare I could muster.
"I was so mad when he called me Ms. Wiley" she said. To me, this was treason, and at some point there would be a price she would have to pay.
Free at Last
I don't really know how much that year at CFM affected me, but I did become a lot wiser with how I conducted myself. What I do know is on that last day of school I saw my classmates behave in a manner I'd never seen before. The entire day was spent at a local park with a lake and boat rides. There was food and lots of fun. We all ran and happily played all day like children are supposed to. I have to admit the day was tinged with bit of sadness. I knew that most of these innocent kids, the majority of whom were really good kids and didn't deserve the treatment they received, would have to return to this hell the very next school year. I was going home, back to a place where teachers didn't have the right to physically abuse you, and in some ways I wished I could have rescued them and taken them all with me.
The day finally ended and we were loaded onto the bus and taken back to CFM, where parents awaited and kids anxiously milled around, excited about the beginning of summer break. Otis and I said our goodbyes-it was to be the last time I ever saw him. There was a sadness in his eyes, and I'm sure he saw it me as well. We'd been through a mental hell together, and like comrades in war, we'd survived. On my way home, I passed our classroom, Wiley stood in the door.
"Come here," she said. I followed her into the empty classroom as she walked to the front where we'd receive our beatings. On the floor was a cardboard box. Wiley reached into the box and pulled out a small marble paperweight. Atop it was a blue, metal plate with a stamp of my name, the school name, and the school year.
"What's this for?" I asked.
"Attendance. You only missed one day of school the entire year," she replied as she handed me the award.
Without saying anything, I turned and walked out of the classroom. I no longer felt the need to acknowledge her-her control over me no longer existed; there was nothing left to say. As I approached the long stairway that lead down the hill and off the school campus, I noticed two girls sitting on the sidewalk playing jacks. One of them was Kim Tyler. As I walked past her something overcame me and I exacted my revenge by stomping her hand with as much force as I could muster, and without missing a beat, I ran as fast as I could down the steps and on to the street-never looking back. And as the distance between Central Free Methodist and me grew greater, and the blood-curdling screams of Kim Tyler grew fainter, I was overcome with jubilation. Finally, I was free!
TPOKW?
