The Mean One

 Appearances are always deceiving. Look first with your eyes, close them, and then look with your heart.

Dyllon’s Law

March 1965 – Eleven Years Old

As I walked out the front door to my house, I knew it wasn't difficult to find my school; it was just a block away. I could even see it from my living room window. Public School 170 looked like an old building and that was because it was. I guessed that it had been there many, many years before Stephen Foster Projects had been built. To me, the school looked ancient.

I walked past the playground and I felt really good because today was picture taking day. I had on my Sunday suit and a starched white shirt. There were lots of kids and parents moving around the area but all were heading towards the school. I felt like others were looking at me in my suit and I tried not to scoff my shined shoes before I got there.

It would have been easy enough to walk in the entrance of the building that faced me on the 112^th Street side but I couldn't. That was the girl’s side. Funny how the boys could leave the school through the girl’s side after three o’clock but couldn't go in through there in the morning.  I guess the teachers thought we’d get too “excited” being with the girls early in the morning. I guess it was just a way of showing that the teachers had the control starting first thing in the morning.

As I walked around the corner of Lenox Avenue I thought back to last year when I used to walk to school with Louis. When I was in the fifth grade, we walked to school for the first few weeks.  Soon he split to be with his friends and I did the same. He had graduated in June and was now at William L. Ettinger, J.H.S. 13 on 106^th Street. I missed seeing him at school but by this September, I’d be going to Ettinger also.

Once I rounded the second corner, on 111^th Street, I could see the top floor windows of the school. They were shaped in the Gothic church style which reminded me of my church, St. Thomas the Apostle. It was on 118^th Street and St. Nicholas Avenue. I loved that building. My father, the Catholic, had taken my there every Sunday since I was born. Services there were always quiet and felt safe. By June 1964, I had been confirmed in the Catholic church. I guess that made me a full-fledged Catholic, whatever that meant. At twelve, I still believed that everybody was basically good and that good things would happen to good people. I also believed that God was everywhere, watching everything and was adding up points.

The rear entrance of 170 was a mirror image of the 112^th Street side. The four-story building was shaped like a huge “H” placed on its back. As I walked up the steps, into the bottom of the H, there was the familiar open area that we used for a playground. The cracked concrete made it even more obvious that the school had been here a long time. No one seemed to be concerned with repairing the courtyard. Maybe that was because of the talk that they were going to tear this school down and build a new one. Guess I’d see that from across the street but not while I was going to the school.

I found Darryl, Gregory and Eddie at the rear of the courtyard. Darryl was talking about the TV pictures that had come from the "Ranger 9" moon probe. He said the pictures were transmitted just before it crashed.  Of course I knew this already. Anything having to do with space travel, I was interested in.   I then changed the subject and talked about this cool movie I had seen called  “Goldfinger.” This guy had a lot of gadgets and a car that could do everything but fly.

As I spoke, the 8:15 bell sounded. It was time for us all to line up by class, before we walked into the school. There was Mrs. Petersen telling the boys in our class to straighten up. As we went in the building, I remembered that at the start of the term, in September, I actually felt scared. During the prior year, my brother and his friends talked about how mean their sixth grade teacher was. Her name was Mrs. Petersen. 

They said she was strict and would hit them with a ruler. She had the reputation of being the meanest teacher in the school.  I thought back to the end of June of last year. At the bottom of my fifth grade report card, it showed which sixth class I would be in and who would be my teacher. To my shock, I had gotten the mean one, old lady Petersen, for my next teacher! 

We filed into the building, then into our classes. As always, I sat quietly in class. At least I no longer had to make my eyes small in order to see the blackboard. A few months ago, I complained to my mother that it was hard for me to see the board. Suddenly I had these black framed glasses.  I was glad to be able to see but felt a little goofy in them. Except for one girl, nobody else in my class of about thirty people wore glasses. I already felt like I was a smaller kid, now I felt like the glasses made me seem a little weaker. I had picked up the nickname “professor” and I knew it applied because I was very interested in science. I took the name as a compliment but it just didn't seem cool.   

I had convinced myself that my class, just like the rest of the school, was broken up into two categories. The cool kids who were good at sports and had an easy time talking to others. Then there were the not so cool kids who were better at school work and uncomfortable when meeting new people. Of course my outlook was a lot more complicated than this but that pretty much covered sports and friendships.  It seemed that the more the cool kids pushed being “friendly”, the more they got in trouble in the class. While in the classroom, Mrs. Petersen had the control and her sharp words would immediately control the “friendliness.” When applying her direction, her voice sounded like she was grinding pebbles with her teeth. 

This particular day in class was boring though and Mrs. Petersen had few complaints. At least the afternoon was fun because we were finally called to pose for our graduating class pictures in the boy’s courtyard. 

Everybody looked so different in their dress up clothes. Nice clothes made us look more mature than we really were. I was surprised how good some of the girls looked in their crisp white blouses and neat skirts. Some even wore floral print dresses that made them look a lot older than they were. The guys were dressed in a variety of suits with the white folded handkerchief showing in the jacket pocket. I thought my suit looked good but some of the other ones looked better. Everybody looked neat, that is except for Burt. No matter what that poor guy did, he could never look dressed up. Even in a suit, he found a way to look sloppy.

After saying “cheese”, we returned to the class and in less than hour it would be 3:00 pm. Two guys were beginning to get out of their seats in anticipation. Mrs. Petersen had seen this and slapped down her ruler which made a cracking sound on her desk.

“Tony and Ernest! You boys better sit still” Mrs. Petersen said firmly and gave them a cold stare.

“I was just collecting my books, Mrs. Petersen,” Tony replied quickly.

He knew the others in class might think this was funny and he always seemed to have an answer for everything.

“You’re going to find yourself staying after class instead of enjoying your afternoon, if that’s what you want”   Mrs. Petersen said sharply.

Tony’s smile faded. He knew that the next words that he was about to say would change his afternoon. Mrs. Petersen didn't play. Tony had played this game before and he didn't like the way it ended. 

Tony backed down and quietly said, “No, Mrs. Petersen.”

A few of the girls in the class snickered softly. Mrs. Petersen jerked her head abruptly to the right towards the noise.

“Quiet until the bell rings” Mrs. Petersen shouted.

I expected the pebbles to fall out her mouth but I didn't see any. No one made another sound for the next fifteen minutes.

When the bell rang, everyone was excited but they slowly picked up their books and carefully  left their seats. Seemed like every one wanted to get out of class and change out of their dressy clothes.  That was except for Sam, David, Milton and I who stayed in our seats while everyone else left the classroom. We watched as the last of the students went through the classroom door.

After being in Mrs. Petersen’s class for a few months, I realized something. She was a strong Negro teacher in a class full of Negroes and Puerto Ricans. She wanted her students to do better, so she was harder on the ones that didn't try. In the beginning, my friends David, Milton and Sam and I would stay after school to help her set up for the next day. As time rolled by, Mrs. Petersen would set up special activities for us which were fun. These activities might be an arts and craft project or she might even have us trying to figure out hard math problems. She didn't have to worry about behavior problems. We wanted to be there. Most of the other kids would have thought that we were nuts but we were having a good time.  When I got to know I her, I realized that she was really a nice person. When I told my brother about this, he didn't understand. Staying after school with a teacher to him only meant that he had done something wrong.

I felt like I had grown to have a greater understanding about how people see other people.  What you see on the surface is not always what is going on inside a person. You have to take the time to listen and then listen again. People were not always what they seemed. Contrary to all the stories I had heard, I always remembered Mrs. Petersen as my favorite teacher. 

Can't wait until next week for the next chapter? Check out the book "Reflections of EL: In Search of Self" and others at Endlessperceptions.com.

Movies

Imagination fuels fear, and fear fuels the imagination. In some, this coupling can be the source of inspiration. In others, blind terror.

Dyllon's Law

 April 1960 - Seven Years Old

Whenever my mother said we were going to the movies, I was quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) jumping for joy. There were always so many different kinds to choose from, so I would never get bored. Mom would take Darryl and me to the theaters that were close to our house. These were the Regent and Morningside theaters, around 116th Street and 8th Avenue, but the better-looking theaters were the RKO and Loew’s at 125th Street. We either took the bus or train the single train stop or if it was a nice evening, we just walked the ten to twelve blocks. This time we took the train because it was a pretty cool evening.

Walking from the 116th Street station and Lenox to the 125th Street station seemed like a short distance unless it was snowing or raining heavily. We had gotten a few steps away from the station, and already the cold kept trying to find ways to sneak into my coat. 

As we walked up 125th Street toward 7th Avenue, I could see Blumstein’s department store, right across the street from the theater. Mom always went clothing shopping there and dragged me and Darryl along. Booorring. In terms of getting clothes for us though, Darryl and I had the same coats and pretty much the same clothes. Mom shopped with us together, and I was never big on being picky about styles. Darryl was starting to say what he liked, and between him and my mother, I got my selection of summer and winter wear.

Ahead of us, it was hard to miss the huge marquee running down the side of the building. The large black letters against the white background spelled out “LOEW’S.” Just a few doors past the movie, I could see the Apollo Theater. I heard that a lot of singers performed there. I knew that the Apollo didn't show movies, so it didn't interest me yet. When we got to the ticket booth, my mother’s long brown coat with the big black buttons kept flapping in the wind. She decided not to button it, but she held her coat closed as she made her purchase. As I stood with Darryl in the entryway, I looked at the small cards that showed scenes from the movie. Angry Red Planet filmed in CineMagic.

“What’s CineMagic?” I wondered.

The other small posters showed a spider-looking creature. The rest just showed people standing around in space suits. Hard to tell what the movie was about, but it didn't seem scary.

Last year we saw a lot of different kinds of movies. I was a glutton for all types of movies, but the ones that I liked the most were about science. We had seen Journey to the Center of the Earth, The 4-D Man, The Time Machine, The Brain from Planet Arous, and The Tingler. With good reason, I don’t remember much of The Tingler. I know it was about a guy who would pull something out of people’s backs when they got scared, but I couldn't tell for sure. Most of the movie, my head was either in my mother’s lap or my eyes were closed tight. 

I do remember seeing most of The Brain from Planet Arous though. The only times I closed my eyes was when they showed the big, floating alien brain, which had visible folds and two glowing eyes in the front. There was no way I was watching that thing and have nightmares for the next month. I kind of knew that the horror movies weren't real, but sometimes they seemed so real!

Once we got past the ticket booth, we walked toward the welcoming theater doors with the long handles. These doors were usually heavy and hard to open, but once in, we walked down the brown and red carpeting that led to the concession stand on the right. Mom let us pick out the candy that we wanted. I always liked to get Chuckles even though it stuck to my teeth. Darryl swore by his Red Hots.

We got our sweets and walked through the next set of double doors into the auditorium. The auditorium was really big. Between the balcony, mezzanine, and main floor, it seemed like a hundred people could have fit in there. When Mom told me that a couple of thousand people could fit, I almost didn't believe her. I wasn't sure how much a thousand was, but I knew it was a lot more than a hundred! The domed ceiling seemed as high as the sky. There was a circular pattern in the center of the dome with a pretty painting of a woman, but it’s hard to remember the detail. I always noticed the box seats on either side of the theater, but I never saw anybody sitting in them. It didn't make sense that anybody would want to see a movie from the side anyway. Sometimes we went to the second floor, where there was a place for people to sit, sort of like a lounge. It had its own big oval ceiling with a painted goddess whose hand was reaching out, almost like a 3-D effect. That looked a little scary but only a little. I was happy when we got past it and went to our seats. 

This time, my mother decided to stay on the first floor and there were lots of seats. We sat about five rows from the screen. My brother was all excited about being able to get good seats. It did make it easier to see when you were not trying to look over other people’s heads, but I wasn't sure if being so close to any monsters was such a good idea. Mom would sit there during the scary parts and I’d hear her quietly say, “Lord, God.” My brother was always brave. Nothing seemed to bother him. He even said that he liked the bloody parts. I thought to myself that maybe when I was older, I’d be brave like that, but it wasn't going to be today.

I liked the seats they had in this theater. They were covered with some kind of red velvet that was really soft. I didn't like the way the wooden arm would get in my way when I was trying to get to my mother though. When I was five, I would climb into her lap when the scary parts started. I was too big for that now or at least I felt that I should be too big. Covering my face and leaning to her lap for protection seemed okay though. I was thinking about how scared I was when I saw The Fly, back in ’58 and the lights started to dim.

I braced myself, as I always did, not knowing if they would start the movie with something really frightening. There were a lot of rocket ships and scientific stuff that seemed interesting, but to me The Angry Red Planet was really not that scary. Between the bat-rat-spider, which looked like a puppet, and the big fish-monster, which came out of the water and had an eyeball spinning around, it got to be corny. The “CineMagic” effect just meant they colored the film an orange-brown tint whenever the crew was on Mars. This was supposed to make it look strange, but most times it just looked out of focus and distracting. 

One part of the movie that did bother me, though, was when the man’s arm fell out from beneath the sheet. His hand to his elbow was covered with a jelly-like substance. Later, back on Earth, the man had bandages that started from his hand, and then went all the way to his shoulder. It was really bulky between his elbow and his shoulder. You couldn't see the jelly stuff, but it was obvious where this was going. For some reason, as I sat there in the dark, this was scaring me out of my mind! I was clutching the chair arm and grimacing. I knew it would be ridiculous to show that I was scared because they weren't showing anything but bandages on a guy’s arm. I held my breath until the movie ended, which fortunately was soon.

After the short train ride back home, Darryl and I were, of course, sitting on our beds talking about the movie. At the young age of seven, I had an “Aha!” moment. You know. When you suddenly realize something clearly for the first time and it really makes sense. To my first-grade mind, this fact hit me like a ton of bricks. Yeah, I was scared of the monsters and gross things that I could see, but I was also scared of the things that I couldn't see. And why was I scared of something that I couldn't see? Because I thought there was supposed to be something to be afraid of. I knew the man in the movie only had a bandage on his arm, but my fear made me think there was green, slimy jelly growing into his skin, causing his flesh to melt away. I had heard the word “imagination” about a year before, and now it started to make some sense.

Darryl agreed this was probably true, but I wasn't sure he caught what I was meaning. It was hard enough for me to try to make myself understand it. I couldn't wait to see another scary movie to see if it was the movie scaring me or just me scaring myself. Mom told us it was time for bed, so Darryl turned off the light. I understood that there was nothing there in the dark to scare me, but I made certain to pull the sheets and woolen blanket all the way over my head. I needed protection from whatever wasn't there, trying to get me. I could hear my brother laughing at me, but I didn't care. Better safe than sorry.

Check out the book "Reflections of EL: In Search of Self" and others at Endlessperceptions.com.

The Beginning

The following is from my first book, 

Reflections of EL: In Search of Self

Chapter 1 - Zero - April 1953

"The innocence of a child can be a parent’s most frightening experience".

I started out as a child, that is to say, I was very young when I was born. During the year of 1952, my mother and father had already made the decision to move themselves and my brother out of their tiny one-bedroom apartment in the Bronx. They landed in a more spacious and newly built cluster of buildings which were located in Harlem, New York.  The entire complex was called Stephen Foster Projects.

From the manicured areas of grass, to the chain-linked posts surrounding them, the place looked like a wonderland. There were numerous playgrounds scattered throughout the three block area and the trees tried not to brush against the second and third floor windows of the buildings.

Our particular building was just off 114^th Street and Lenox Avenue which is located not too far from the north side of Central Park. At the time of my birth in April 1953, this became my home.

We lived in #2J, in a huge two bedroom apartment with a living room and kitchen/dining area. Funny how things seem so much bigger when you’re little. Guess it’s just a matter of perspective.

This brings me to where my story really starts. My earliest memory is of me hiding out from my mother and aunt.

I was sitting, crouched down, in my bedroom closet,  behind two large suitcases. They were pushed back there, up on their ends, in order to make space. The clothing hanging in front of these bags made it impossible to see anything behind them. If anyone could see back there, they’d find a small for his age three year old. That’s because most of the other kids my age seemed to be taller than me. And my brother, who was one year and a half older, was a constant cause of comparison. But he was older so of course he was supposed to be taller.

As I tried to sit on a small red and black shoe container, I could smell the older coats and suits there next to me. I didn’t recognize them so I guessed they hadn’t been worn in a long time. This was the closet that was in my brother and my bedroom but my parents used it to keep their extra clothes. There was one big, heavy grey coat that was fighting me for the right to be comfortable back there. I allowed it to win because it helped me make my hiding place. 

Suddenly, I could hear my mother and my aunt talking in the other bedroom. My aunt had just walked to my parents’ room a minute ago, when my mother called her. She was really nice and was always willing to spend time with me and play. Everybody called my aunt “Little Sister” because she was the youngest child in a family of seven brothers and sisters. Then she became a nun, which made the nickname pretty permanent.

I pushed a little further back into a dark pinned-striped suit and I had to move the sleeve which kept bouncing on the side of my face. Two of the buttons on the sleeve were broken in half. That seemed strange. How could buttons break? The darkness of the closet was scary but comforting in a weird kind of way.

The little brown radio on the dresser with three holes for eyes was playing the beginning of the song” Just Walking In The Rain by Johnnie Ray. I quietly kept trying to whistle the way they did in the song. My cheeks swelled up real big and I perched my lips like my brother showed me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything but blow air out and it just made a hollow, whooshing sound. I could hear someone walking through the bedroom doorway.

“Annie. Where’s Dyllon?” My aunt said.

I tried to be as quiet as a mouse. This was a greatest game of hide and seek I’d ever played. Unfortunately, my mother and aunt didn’t know they were playing this game with me. I held both hands to my mouth so my aunt couldn’t hear me giggling. I could hear a second set of footsteps, as if someone was moving quickly across the brown and black linoleum covered floor, into the bedroom. Of course, this was my mother.

“Dyllon, baby. Where are you?“ my mother said.

There was a slight quiver in her voice but it didn’t sound that unusual. I kept still and didn’t answer.  

“Sister. I didn’t see him walk by the door. Did you see him?”

As my mother said this, she opened the closet door. Thin beams of light fought to make their way back to me but they couldn’t. I was in the perfect spot. My mother glanced quickly around the closet. Since she saw nothing but the shoes on the floor and suitcases to the right, she decided that I wasn’t there. A bit more light brightened my area as she moved away from the closet doorway.

“He must have gone to the kitchen,” my mother said. 

There was fear in my mother’s voice now but I wasn’t aware of it.

I heard the two of them walk quickly out of the bedroom while they were calling my name.

“Dyllon. Where are you?” my aunt said.

Their voices seemed very far away. I guessed that they had gone towards the living room, in the front of the apartment. I moved the coats a bit so I could see but I thought I heard them coming back so I quickly pulled back. I almost hit my head on the back of the closet wall but pushed my left arm back and hit that instead. I felt a stinging pain on my elbow that made me want to cry. I didn’t though. If I made a noise, they were going to find me. I couldn’t know it but my mother was getting more frantic by the minute.

“We didn’t check under the bed,” my aunt said. “I bet he’s hiding under the bed.”

This time it did sound like they were going to return to the bedroom so I decided to surprise them. I pushed pass the large suitcases but it wasn’t easy. Even though they were empty; the cases were heavy. I tried to jump out of the closet but I tripped on my father’s dark brown penny-loafer shoes. As I regained my balance, stepped pass the clothes and stood in from of my mother and aunt who by now were already in the room with their backs turned to me.

I made certain to plant both feet firmly on the floor.

“ME DISAPPEAR!” I loudly said as I stretched my arms out wide.

Now they could see that I had just magically reappeared!

Both of them were side by side, close to the bed. They had turned quickly at the same time when they heard the noise from the closet. My mother looked down at me quietly for a moment. My aunt just stood there smiling with her arms crossed as she shook her head. My mother bent down quickly, grabbed me up from the floor and gave me a big tight hug. I could smell the starch from her newly ironed flowered dress. 

I felt warm and safe. I liked this game.