In the fall of 1960, we started school at Handy Elementary, only a short distance from our home, before the Costa Mesa Freeway was built. The summer before school, my teacher, another man, came to the house to meet the parents. I was, of course, in my room yet again for perceived misbehavior (Willene almost never confined Freddie, but I was in room detention all the time--let's face it, she was a horrible parent who now had five kids, our half-sister Lorri having been added to the mix in March of 1961).
This new teacher was quite innovative. He brought a TV to school so we could watch the inauguration of John F. Kennedy (with the poet Robert Frost reading a poem for the occasion). We learned algebra--I still never got the concept of letters of the alphabet substituting for numbers. We had 100-word spelling tests every week. I wasn't a star student--too much disruption at home and no encouragement. But I got by. School was again, like the visits from mom, a refuge from all that we had to endure. If I had anything of value, I kept it at school to ensure that Freddie would not steal from me and trade my stuff at school for food.
It was at Handy that I first met my good friend Dave Moore. I also had another friend, Jim Gendron, I believe his name was. He had to have been gay, as well. We could both be flamboyant when we affected English accents--a sure sign right then that we were gay. I did hear from Dave that Jim had emotional issues and that his parents may have had him get help. Perhaps they realized that he was different and they were trying to address that--fortunately for me, Willene just didn't like us kids and we didn't like her. Nothing else was really an issue.
Our teacher had row monitors for each of the rows of desks in our classroom. The row monitors were selected based solely on test scores. So, week after week after week, we had the same row monitors. With almost no exceptions, or very few, they were the pretty, smart, competitive girls in the class. They were also the girls whose families were comfortably off financially. They weren't snobs or stuck up, but we regular kids were starting to get upset about this routine since it began to seem as if the whole thing was rigged against us. We loudly protested--it wasn't the girls themselves but it was the system we were opposed to. The teacher relented and let us vote for row monitors. With only one exception, a very popular boy we all liked, we voted for the exact same girls to be row monitors! Boy, were we really angry then. Unfortunately, with these same girls, I would experience one of the most painful humiliations of my young life.
One of the smart girls, though not particularly one of the cute girls, had a birthday party to which the whole class was invited. There was cake and a huge punch bowl with punch and large sherbet ice cream bergs floating around in the bowl. And there was dancing to pop records. I bravely asked in turn each of the pretty girls in class to which most of us were attracted if she would dance with me. Each told me the same thing: that they would dance with me, but I would first have to dance with Christine.
Christine was the one girl in class who was larger than almost all of us boys--Christine could, in fact, pound any of us boys into the ground had she wanted to. She was not at all attractive though I would soon discover that she was a good dancer. A deal was a deal, I figured, so I danced with her. When it was time to collect from the others, I returned to each of the pretty girls to fulfill the agreement each had made with me. However, they roundly refused. I was crushed. In addition, I felt betrayed. Had they simply suggested to me that I dance with Christine, assuming that I would not do so? Did they really think so little of me that a dance was out of the question?
I should have told them all that they were jerks to treat me that way and walked off with my dignity in tact. Unfortunately, I compounded my humiliation by grabbing one of them by the hand to drag her out to dance with me. The others grabbed her to keep my plan from succeeding. I cannot say how long this tug-of-war went on before I realized how much of a fool I was making of myself and how much they really did not want to dance with me, regardless of their promises. I suddenly stopped, let go of her hand, and sat down on a nearby bench, covered my face with my hands and began to bawl like a baby.
This caused quite a scene. With my hands over my eyes, I could only hear everyone talking. Parents were asking what the matter was. Boys in the class were trying to figure it out. The 3-4 girls who had helped initiate this outburst were confessing to what they had done. Eventually, I removed my hands from my face, stopped crying, and eventually the party resumed. I suppose a couple of those girls did dance with me, but I also made sure that I danced again with Christine. There were the cute, popular kids; and there were the less attractive, less popular kids, of which I suppose I realized I was one.
Unfortunately, to add to my humiliation, after the party broke up and we were being driving home by one of the parents, Willene called to ask where I was. The adult driving let off other students first so that I was one of the last to arrive home. She accosted me in the living room when I came into the house about where I had been. I calmly explained what had happened with the order of dropping us off, but she would have none of my explanation. She accused me of lying and of doing god knows what with the time that had transpired between when she called the house of the girl with the birthday, whose mother incautiously told her the party had ended awhile before, and when I finally walked through the front door. I could not win that night.
Frankly, I believe that she probably anticipated that I had had an enjoyable time at the party and she was going to darn well ensure that whatever fond memories I had would be permanently damaged by her baseless accusations. None of the other kids in the family had often been invited to a birthday party not our own, certainly not Freddie who was not someone other kids liked very much at school. She succeeded even though I never told anyone about how the party had almost been a total disaster for me anyway.
All of us did get to go to Disneyland because one of the kids in our school had a father who worked there. For a dollar per student, we got unlimited rides at the park that day. Unfortunately, for the four of us, dad could not afford four dollars for us to go. My teacher met with me separately and said the admission fee was taken care of. He may have contributed the amount himself for me, the same for the teachers of Georgann, Freddie and Pam. I did not go with Dave Moore, which I don't quite understand. The fellow student I spent the day with insisted that we ride the rockets around and around several times, followed by the Tea Cup ride. I almost puked at the end of that insane marathon of circling.
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