Chapter 4

October, 1948

Eighth grade and Miss Jernnigan. All during seventh grade, I had heard stories about Miss Jernnigan and her math class. She was reputed to be the hardest, meanest teacher you could ever hope not to meet. She even made you learn how to extract square roots! Of all the useless skills, that had to lead the parade! On top of everything else, she didn't "grade on a curve." If you scored 64 on a test, you got an "F," no matter what your classmates scored. Man, she was tough!

Well, I never admitted it, but I liked Miss Jernnigan's math class. She even had us learn to extract cube roots! Now that was a challenge! She never had them on a test, but she did show us how to do it. I never expected to use the information, but it was kind of neat to know that I could if I had to.

Most of my other classes were the routine stuff. I learned without applying any effort, which was NOT a good thing. It fostered bad study habits which I later came to regret. Oh, I could remember everything I ever heard or read, but integrating it into a useful whole was not that easy. Eventually, I learned how, but it was a struggle at times.

This was also the time when I learned about the heinous crime of blackmail. This adventure came about through my pursuit of bullies. I was walking around the playground one day when I detected a very depressed feeling emanating from one of the teachers who was monitoring the area. Miss Archer was a PE instructor and a real "dish!"

A lot of day dreams circulated around among the male student population about Miss Archer and the sexual favors she could dispense, if she only would. Of course, nobody had any evidence of this ever actually happening, but it was a common fantasy. I even had a few, myself. She was really looking "down," something totally different from her usual happy, vibrant demeanor.

I walked near her and looked into her mind—it was in a boiling, jumbled mess! I didn't, at that time, have much luck in looking into a person's mind because I didn't know how to organize my search. I could read thoughts, if the person was mentally verbalizing those thoughts, but I couldn't yet read anything any deeper. I kept probing, but I couldn't come up with an explanation for Miss Archer's depression. Finally, I began to get a glimmer of what was bothering her. She began to think about the specifics of her problem. Someone, she didn't know who, was threatening to go to the school board with proof that she was a lesbian. I had no idea what a "lesbian" was, but I intended to find out. Obviously, being a "lesbian" was something bad, but I had no idea how bad.

This person, she thought of him as a "blackmailer," was not specific with his demands, but Miss Archer was very frightened. She had little money to pay for his silence, so she was sure to be exposed. She badly needed this job because she was paying her mother's heavy medical expenses and she had no cash reserves. I resolved to help!

My first job was to find out what a "lesbian" was. Miss Archer acted like she would be devastated if I asked her, so my first stop would be the library. The school library was no help at all, so I went to the town library. There was nothing helpful here either, but that wouldn't have been surprising in south Alabama in 1948 if I had been more sophisticated.

I finally settled on my source of ultimate wisdom: I would ask my father. At supper that night, I said, "Dad, I came across a word today which has me stumped. I have been trying to find out what it means, but neither the school library nor the town library have even a definition. I hoped you could help me out."

"Sure, son, I'll try. What's the word?"

"Lesbian"

Silence thundered around the diner table! My father looked at my mother. My mother looked at my father. I knew that I had done something wrong, but I didn't know what. I waited in mute anticipation for one of them to say something.

Finally, my father turned to me and said, "Bruce, that is a word that is not used in polite company and you must not use it again! When you are a bit older, I will discuss it with you." He then turned to Mother and began talking about Auburn football prospects this season.

I knew immediately, from their reaction, that the word had something to do with sex. Therefore, I would wait for recess and ask some of my school buddies if any of them knew what it meant. The next day, I learned more about lesbianism than I ever wanted to know. No wonder Miss Archer was upset!

Now, I was even more determined than ever to help Miss Archer. I liked her and thought that her sexual preferences were her own business and shouldn't be public knowledge. I admitted that I could not see what two women could do for each other, but then I remembered my experience with that pedophile. I guessed that I just did not have enough information about people's feelings about sex to form an opinion.

From what little I had learned, I was certain that I could not be of much help to Miss Archer if she would not talk to me about her problem. But how could I get her to trust a 13-year-old boy? The answer was simple: I couldn't! This was how "The Vigilante" was born. One of my comic book heroes was called "The Vigilante." The premise was pretty stupid, but fun. "The Vigilante" was a man who lived in a big city (New York?) and had a secret identity in which he dressed as a Hollywood-style cowboy, but used a motorcycle instead of a horse. I decided to emulate "The Vigilante" in action, but not in dress. He was more interested in justice than in legality, thus his name. I decided that was what I would be when I grew up: I would be a vigilante. I had gotten my start with the pedophile, and now I would continue with Miss Archer's blackmailer.

My first task was to approach Miss Archer in such a way that she would not dismiss me as a silly boy. I had a inspiration: I would use telepathy to contact her in a dream. Once I had established some credibility, I would contact her more conventionally. I would start tonight.

I figured that she would certainly be asleep by 2:00 AM, so I set my alarm to wake me up then. I already had proof from my conversation with T'ching T'ching that I could use telepathy for a two-way conversation, so I was ready to go.

The alarm went off and I shut it off before it could wake my parents. I lay in bed and sent out my POV to locate Miss Archer. I already knew her address, so finding her was easy. She was asleep, alone in her bed. "Miss Archer, can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can. Who are you?"

"I am the Vigilante. I have come to help you fight your blackmailer."

"Oh, I wish you could help me. I need someone to help."

We carried on a lengthy conversation in this vein until she seemed convinced that the voice in her head was real. I told her, "You will remember this visit from The Vigilante even after you wake up. I will contact you tomorrow while you are awake. Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye, and thank you."

The next day it was simple for me to contact Miss Archer: she was the monitor for my study hall period. I waited until she was sitting in her chair behind her desk and spoke to her mind, "Good day, Miss Archer. Please do not be alarmed. I am the same person who talked to you while you were asleep last night. You can talk to me by simply thinking your words. Please say something to me in you mind."