“Mr. Fredlund, these are the best years of your life, so you’d better not waste them,” said my Biology teacher. What a sour old goat (he was probably 35). Perhaps his attitude and commentary eliminated any interest I had in following up on a Biology education.
I didn’t think I believed that notion then, and I certainly don’t believe it now.
Take that, Elton John. For your sake, I hope you were only singing in character, and “Never knew me a better time, and I guess I never will.” was not a personal statement.
What is it about the high school years that appeals to so many people? I think it’s a memory problem. Unconsciously, selective memory seems to make these times better than they ever were. To our credit, we tend to remember the good things that happen, not the bad. Unless the experience was traumatic, the uncomfortable and downright awful times blur and pass out of recollection.
I must have had a good deal of trauma.
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Greece Olympia JV Soccer
Can you pick me out?
No, I wasn't good enough to be moved up to JV.
There was no Freshman team. |
I entered Greece Olympia High School as a 14-year-old, not-quite 5 foot tall, 110 pound target. I label myself in that way because all the freshmen were targets of the numerous sadists populating the upper classes. Even though any ill that befalls the storyteller tends to be overplayed in relation to that which happens to his peers, I think I had the virtual target painted on me in colors a tad more vibrant than most. In addition to being small (always an issue for a newbie), I sported a Princeton (one small step away from a brush-cut), wore glasses, and (gasp!) carried books.
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I'll make it easy for you with this close-up.
Clue: I wore glasses.
What a handsome lad! |
Greece Olympia was a solidly working-class high school on the blue-collar side of Rochester, NY. In 1967, the Age of Aquarius had yet to assert itself, even though young people were listening to Mop-Tops and other deviant music. It is one thing to hear and enjoy the distant refrains of the anthem, and quite another to march to it.
Not exactly a cauldron from which a summer of love would emerge, the unofficial social order was clearly divided between the Greasers and the Jocks. Both had their “Fraternities,” which were half-hearted, almost cute attempts at gang culture. Of course there were other groups as well, like the Drama People, the Band, and the Business Folk, but the Greasers and the Jocks were the mainstays of social order.
But I perceived a different grouping. I saw only humans and sadists. Most of my fellow Olympians fell into the human category, but a significant number filled out the ranks of the sadists. More of them hailed from the ranks of the Greasers than the Jocks, perhaps because of the slightly less optimistic outlook due to the economics of their families (no time to play games...I gotta work), but there were more than enough sadists from both sides of the line.
Many of us targets suffered from a problem of perception. We were operating under the assumption that the reason for attending High School was to get educated by activities like going to class. How naive. We were certainly there to get educated, but much of the educational process was really directed toward survival in a hostile environment.
“Blue shirt,” I heard as I walked by the main lavatory. I looked around, seeing that I was not the only target clad in azure tones.
“Light or dark?” I blurted in dialog anticipating the yet-to-be-imagined Monty Python’s Holy Grail.
“Dark,” came the answer I did not want to hear as three thugs approached. Before I knew what had happened, English was on the opposite side of the hall, Social Studies was behind me, and Physics was following a classic frictional deceleration curve while sliding away in my previous direction of travel. I scurried around the other passing students to pick up the books for my studies, thankful that my glasses had only been partially dislodged and managed to hang from one ear instead of being stomped on the floor. The other humans moved along unperturbed, just like when the herd loses its weakest member. I believe they were thinking, “Gee, that’s too bad, and I’m pleased to be wearing something other than a dark blue shirt.”
The experience caused me to devise a new inter-class movement policy. Since the school was configured in a number of loops and wings, if I went well out of my way, I could get to class without passing the main lavatory again. If I moved quickly, the 4 minutes allowed would get me to the next class only a few seconds late, and the glare of the teacher was much preferred to chasing scattered books. Or worse.
This policy worked well for some time even though there was potential danger in passing the outlying mechanical shop. The good news was that this was the only class which held any interest for the preponderance of greaser students. Much later in life I would regret letting fear keep me from ever entering that room, but that is another story.
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I hope you are impressed by the physical specimens on the Freshman Basketball Team.
Clearly, I aspired to become a Jock.
And since long term memory fails after short term is gone,
I can actually remember who 7 of these guys are. Hi, Russ! |
Later in the year, I made a serious tactical error. I was directed by the Social Studies teacher to go retrieve some resource book left behind at his previous classroom. Since it was the middle of the period, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to relieve myself at the certainly empty main lavatory. I had to hurry since the teacher had instructed me not to dawdle.
I almost choked on the smoke as I pushed through the doorway and into the Central Hall of Plumbing. Puffing away, in front and all around me, were all the tough guys in the school. They were at least as surprised to see me as I was seeing them. “Holy Shit!” I wanted to scream, but I was so scared the words never made it anywhere near my mouth.
I recently learned from Amos Nachoum (http://www.amosphotography.com/) that when you come upon a large and potentially deadly wild animal, you must avoid two things. First, do not advance toward the animal, since this behavior will be interpreted as an attack, provoking aggressive defensive behavior. Second, do not turn and run, because the animal will see this as the behavior of prey.
With mock confidence, I walked to an open urinal and unzipped with as much ceremony as I could muster. One half of the flight-or-fight mechanism had kicked in, so there was absolutely no way any fluids could be transferred to the porcelain, but I knew I had to make a good show of it now that I was committed. I soon flushed, zipped and turned to leave, being careful not to make eye contact, yet also being careful not to look down and be regarded as the target I was. Slowly, with mock confidence quickly eroding, I made my way to the escape door and was on my way, running as soon as the door swung shut.
The benefit of this harrowing experience was that now I knew were all the tough guys were between class. Secure in this knowledge, a week later I asked Mr. Old Goat if I could be excused for a moment to go around the corner to the little-used lavatory far away from the tough guys.
Another blunder. I was not aware of the pecking order. There were three aspiring Sophomore toughs hanging out, not quite tough enough to claim residence with the Juniors and Seniors in the main lav. Since there was no smoke, I had to assume they were there just so that they could say they had skipped class, a requirement for becoming a full-fledged sadist. I knew I had to muster my bravado once again, but before I could make make my way to the porcelain, they had picked me up off the ground with one holding me under my arms and the other two with one leg apiece.
“Get his belt,” said the punk at my head.
My mind raced thinking of what was coming next, but as the one on my right leg reached, I realized that the weakened grip on my leg was my opportunity.
I have loved soccer from the first day the ball was placed at my feet. Though there have been many times when the game has frustrated and hurt me, at this moment, it served me well. Without any hesitation, I easily broke the weakened grip on my right foot, rolled sideways, and kicked the assailant on my left leg with every ounce I could muster. In the groin. He let go, went down in slow motion, and made a sad little child-like whimpering noise.
Suddenly, I was on my feet facing the remaining two as the whimperer sat on the floor.
“Let’s go,” said the head punk, and the two of them helped the third out. I remained for a few minutes until the other half of the flight-or-fight mechanism allowed me to relax.
I adopted a new policy. From that time until my Junior year, when redistricting sent me to a freshly-built school (and I became a powerful 140 pound Junior), I never walked into a lavatory during regular school hours. Though inconceivable to me now, with a pre-school evacuation, amazing willpower and probable systemic damage from thwarting bodily functions, I was able to avoid unnecessary abuse. This does not mean that conflict did not thrust itself upon me, but it was minimized.
So for me, remembering these times only serves to make me incredibly happy that they are in the past. Though there were also great experiences, I can honestly say that almost every post high school day has been an improvement. I wish I’d known that then. I should have looked Mr. Goat directly in the eyes and told him, “You sad old fool. The best is yet to come.”
(Thanks to Kathy VanMeter Burritt for being a skilled archivist and providing the wonderful imagery from the Greece Olympia 1968 Yearbook. The next time we meet, she will not be buying her own wine.)
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And now, offered as a bonus, a corroborating story from Diver Dan, friend and classmate with similar memories.
i know i had very similar experiences.... i shall never ever forget the anxiety i always felt as i dared to walk past that main lavatory with books under my arm. i had my own targeting experience that had a much better result than any you had. i can still recall it as if it happened to me 2 minutes ago : it was freshman year and i was headed past that dreaded smokey lavatory with my books under my left arm. i was moving along trying to maintain my usual dignity as i blended into the crowd of passive shuffling students. i recall thinking that i only had about 5 seconds until i'd be past that stinking lavatory but then all my senses went on high alert as i noticed a skinny furtive greaser who looked directly at me ( uh-oh ! ) ..... and he stepped out from the fringe of his peers hovering in front of the lavatory. He took a quick glance the other way then he boldly focused on my face again as he smirked smugly. His body language spelled big trouble & i realized i had only a fraction of a second to decide what to do.
i had 2 rapidly-forming instincts : one was to run ..... the other was to ram my free elbow into his ribs since i saw he was raising his arms as he brandished a comb with a 2-handed grip ( what the hell was he gonna DO ??!?!? ) ..... i then quickly settled into another mode of survival-thinking : Let's let this play out so i can let him make his move first and THEN i'd attack ( as if THAT was gonna work ... his smurking mind-less buddies were all watching closely ) .... at the last instant i decided to be absolutely stubbornly stoic. .... as the last nano-seconds ticked down to the inevitable collision, i vowed i wasn't going to show ANY acknowledgement of what was about to happen. There was NO way i was going to allow that slimey lizard have the satisfaction of claiming victory in any way.
it worked.
That over-confident predator actually did follow through with his dark plan : he used his 2-handed grip to snap his comb against my right ear (!) ..... but i did NOT acknowledge it. i did not flinch. i did not blink.
i kept on walking.
i'll always recall hearing that lizard blurt out to his buddies "Did you see that ? He didn't blink ! He must be a robot !"
Because i turned a corner i could see ( out of the corner of my eye ) that skinny jerk stepping back into his circle of greasy buddies with his whole demeanor changed : he now had a slack-jawed / defeated / stunned reaction to the recent thwarting of his once-confident ploy to show domination.
Victory was mine !
Of course it hurt. it hurt a LOT. But there was no damn way i was ever gonna acknowledge it.
Admittedly, i actually felt very very stressed because i had to in-voluntarily amp up my adrenaline and survival instincts when i was supposed to be right-fully pursuing my almighty education ..... NOT dodging social mis-fits !
Sheeesh ! where's a vice-principal when you need one ? And why does the school district allow the surly under-achievers to bother the real students ? Those kind of questions popped up in my mind the very instant i saw that skinny jerk target me. Not that i actually formed those 2 questions as i approached that no-man's land ..... but i felt instant resentment when the lavatory confrontation raised its ugly head.
and i felt humiliated .... for a while.
i did claim victory, but i also had to deal with the strong inner sense of ignominious destruction of a big chunk of my dignity. And the very real sting of pain on my ear .... but i sensibly concluded that any sense of shame was totally false : that greaser was already defeated the instant he decided to let his own in-securities rule his choices. i KNEW he had no valid motivation. His goal was to diminish the weakling ..... but he encountered a feisty freshman who wasn't gonna play his stupid game.
My eyes did water from the sting of the pain on my ear but i also truly felt very fortified from slaying that dragon : i had conquered my own wishy-washy day-to-day way of wandering through my life by responding in a mind-full way to an un-expected troll. That WAS a triumph, i told myself.
My only regret to this day is that i think my stoic response was too passive. i had enlisted a passive-aggressive tactic by completely ignoring that idiot's efforts. i feel like i only re-inforced my naive belief that being peace-full will always somehow make the aggressors go away.
So that's a whole lot of detail about my own trivial ( but un-forgettable ) lavatory skirmish ..... an experience that included all the classic social dynamics of teen-agers and also specific to Olympia's social jungle during the Age of Aquarius ( which never gained real traction as you described )
