/etext__/violence/violence3.txt

MYSTIC, Conn. 1982. RACE RIOT; FITCH SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL.

I will use first names only. Jasmine was dating Darryl.
  Darryl's Afrikan Amerikan; Jasmine Puerto Rican. Darryl 
has a twin brother named Deane. On the basketball court
they were given the nickname Heckel and Jeckel. Back then
I never thought there was much harm in it. They didn't seem
troubled by it either. Craig is White (or "Anglo you could 
say...) and he also has a twin brother Carl. I swear I'm 
not making any of this up. I don't have to. All are seniors 
with me that year. Or was Jasmine a Junior? No she was our
age.
  Craig and Carl would taunt Jasmine endlessly without
mercy from fall 81 until early 82. (maybe February? many
details lost to time and cobwebs and all that) Terms like
"niggerlover," and "oreo cookie" were used just about 
every day for months.

  5TH PERIOD.

  Lunch. I ate "second wave" of three and had a studyhall 
first and third. It was "first wave" and I was walking by 
the cafeteria to get to the men's room when it began. I'll 
make a long story medium sized here and write you the rest
some other time. Craig or Carl called Jasmine a "niggerlover" 
again but this time was different. Darryl or Dean was right
near and actually heard it. They'd said they'd kick some
serious ass if they ever heard it. Only it wasn't one of 
the brothers who began to rumble.
  Jasmine grabbed racism by the throat and said, "call 
me that one more time I'll kick your ass." Well she got 
punched in the head and then all hell broke loose. I 
don't remember who hit who, who pulled out what weapons, 
etc., but the thing blew over to a major standoff that 
was far from peaceful, but at least seemed civil within 
10 or 15 minutes. At least it felt like it. Maybe a little
longer.
  Shortly after that, about 40 local uniformed police 
officers filed in looking all like Dudley Dooright asking
a million questions and spreading additional fear all over
the place for another day and a half or so. Thanks a lot
people! Too little and too late, and the WRONG energy, 
but no one's ready to discuss THAT, are we?

  NEXT DAY

  Same first wave study hall. Tom brought in a huge wad 
of cotton balls he's glued together to look like real 
cotton freshly picked. Nice try guy. He's tossing it 
in the air and catching it demonstratively saying, 
"niggers should all pick cotton," over and over like 
a mantra. His eyes seem really glazed over and he looks 
like he's in some kind of a trance.
  "What the hell are you doing?" I ask him. He doesn't
answer, just tunes me out.
  "Dork," I say before walking away and finding a seat
farther away from him this time. I reflect on the fact
that Leon, who I'd considered my 4th closest friend in
all of life had just informed me that he and Tyrone would
have to ignore me in the hallways for a very long time
at least until this all blows over. Please to not be
offended if I yell "hi" and he just tunes me out. He
argued with his older brother about it all night he tells
me, he really wanted to risk staying friends, but alas
it could not be. None of us are advanced enough yet, I
told him, and that I'd try to understand. I look back
at how sappy it sounded, but can't have known how wise
the both of us had been for the moment.
  The city's response matched perfectly with that of 
the county and state board of ed. Come to think of it, 
a perfect 1984 foreshadowing of the Clintonian police-
state that I'm sure evolved in steps over time. "More 
cops." Hundreds of thousands of more cops to all our 
cities and towns. Every four years it's the same wrong 
answers to the same wrong questions. More cops.
  Police decided their problem was having headquarters 
based too close to junior high and not close enough 
to the high school. By 1983 they'd built a brand new 
compound directly across the street. We immediately
began calling it our newly remodeled public detention 
annex.
  My last months at school were hell. I befriended two
different young men "my age" those months. Twice I was 
asked to never tell anyone they HADN'T in fact moved
from some other school district and they were NOT 17 
years old. Truth be told they were 20-30, posing as 
young-looking students to carry out detective work.

10 YEARS LATER

  1992 - Despite twice as many undercovers in the 
classrooms, and armed uniformed cops 24/7 in the 
hallways, there was another race riot. I'd just 
returned to my hometown for a year or two about 
a week after it all went down. I couldn't believe 
what I was reading in the papers and hearing around 
town. This riot was shorter but scarier in that 
there was much more weaponry involved. And just 
as is always the tradition in "the north," even 
though it was racially driven, no one discusses 
that out loud. 
  And does anyone besides me think what's even more 
frightening is the very cops going around showing 
off heavy artillery everywhere they go?
  Well I went up there to visit the school principal.
I suggested to him that if there's going to be anyone
carrying weapons of any kind allowed on school property,
both uniformed and undercover, I believed with all my 
heart that there should be at the very least an equal 
amount of unarmed adults trained in non-violent conflict 
resolution at all times. This is the only way to keep 
things from escalating. And I was willing to commit my 
spare time getting a program started around that philosopy.
  The principal, who was friends with my dad had three
sons on the same Little League team as me. I'd looked 
up to him for all my growing up years, and he said he 
thought my idea was just the wackiest notion he'd ever 
heard, and suggested that I get involved in weekly PTA 
meetings if I really wanted to help. He told me they 
were going to triple the amount of undercover, and he 
said they were in the process of trying to get the town 
to agree to budget for one additional uniformed armed 
cop in the hallways even though he'd prefer about 3 more.
  And there, he thought he could count on me. He said they 
could use an articulate young man like me to swing the rest 
of the town his way. Ummm. Sorry Mr. Principal. No can do. 
You might as well have asked me to donate money to the KKK,
become a secret DARE officer or pick up weapons myself!!!
  I remember jogging home thinking "I don't WANNA  K N O W 
what 2002's race riot will be like."