Chapter 3

Grandmother looked ... she saw a 13 year old boy. She closed her eyes ... she heard a 55 year old man. A disciplined military man. A dangerous ... even deadly man. Her eyes opened... 13 year old kid. She shut them again... 55 year old killer ... thirteen year old... 55 year old... 13... 55... 13... 55. As long as she kept her eyes shut ... she could believe. As soon as she looked ... not a chance.

Me? I was dwelling on the differences:

First time: I was the wimp. I couldn't cope with my tiny bladder. Bed wetter. Embarrassment at school.

This time: Brave, highly trained, combative, bladder capacity of an elephant.

First time: younger sister Grace is a flat chested hooked nose bitch.

This time: twin sister Grace is the beauty of the town and excellently constructed.

First time: Charles is 18 months older and eminently reasonable.

This time: Charles is younger and temper tantrum prone.

First time: Grandmother loves Charles.

This time: Grandmother loves me.

First time: I was a waste of skin.

This time: Genius.

First time: I lived in the attic.

This time: I lived in the attic with my own bath.

First time: Charles weighs 300 pounds

This time: Charles weighs 300 pounds.

The reality of the changes came all too soon.

Although it's hard to believe, Wilson had friends. A sociopath with friends? Not only were they friends but in their tiny minds they conceived the idea that Wilson could come back if I dropped the charges. They were going to make me do that.

The confrontation happened at noon. I mean ... isn't that the way it always happens ... hot summer sun beating down on a dusty street ... respectable folk hurrying away on boardwalks in front of false fronted board buildings ... cowboys drinking in the saloon while their hitched horses stand dropping road apples ... a blazing exchange of gunfire and the loser falling face first in a fresh pile?

This was like that ... well ... except for the the sun ... it was a cloudy May day ... and the street was paved. Bunch of high school kids standing like vultures waiting for the last breath ... and it was concrete sidewalks in front of houses ... not a saloon or a cowboy or their horses anywhere in sight and absolutely NO road apples. Otherwise it was just the same ... waiting for the loser to fall.

There's something about having fifteen and a half million bucks that makes a guy want to live.

As the thirteen year old I couldn't tell anyone what I did ... because it was reaction ... strictly reacting to the situation ... what ever it was ... it worked. The witnesses were shocked.

I couldn't tell them what I did as a 55 year old colonel. A specifically trained hand to hand combat killer of the SOG ... an organization of the Army that didn't exist in 1955 ... who would believe me? Maybe everyone ... I can hear it now: "Yes, David ... I mean Colonel ... sure you did. Let me tighten up these straps. You'll be more comfortable if you can't fall out of the stretcher ... Sir."

And I knew one thing I wasn't going to hear, "Wow ... you destroyed those four guys ... good job."

No ... what I predict I'm going to hear is the scratchiness of the intercom and the announcement...

"David Austin ... Report to the Principals Office. Immediately."

See.

My continued existence depends on who is waiting in that office. I expected ... Mother ... maybe. Father ... maybe. The police ... for sure. One out of three isn't good. My defender? ... the sole family member to be ushered into the office ... Grama. Four feet, nine inches of Tasmanian Devil, whirlwind, spitfire ... and seventeen witnesses who all said, "They started it! David only defended himself."

In 1955, schools didn't have bullies ... no ... they were just beginning to have gangs ... in my small town anyway.

Detroit? They have everything you might read about in The Blackboard Jungle.

In my little town? We had a few kids who wore motorcycle jackets, shackled jeans, combed their hair in a DA (duck's ass.), and carried a switchblade or a zip gun ... not that they would know how to use either. The only bullies we had were the morons on the football team ... those guys loved to hurt. They were the guys ... upon graduation ... who joined the police force.

The smart football players got scholarships and went to college.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said it best:

(Watson is speaking the first line:)

"Good heavens!" I cried. "Who would associate crime with these dear old homesteads?"

(Holmes replied, )

"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."

"You horrify me!"

"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbors, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser."

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1892)

Sherlock Holmes in "The Copper Beeches"

My hometown qualifies as 'the smiling and beautiful countryside.'

"Zero Tolerance" is a concept in the far future. Bullies exist ... the only way to get around them is to be better at it than they are ... or learn to hide ... never leave by the same door ... always stay in groups ... walk a teacher to her car. Those were my tactics the first time around. The appointment to West Point saved my ass. Plebe harassment? Piece of cake ... compared to the terror of high school. Plebe was one year ... high school was FOUR!

Oh, they tried to keep Grannie out. Yeah ... keep out the tornado ... you'd have better luck. No ... Grama was representing me even if I didn't want her. Make no mistake ... I wanted her.

Instantly on the offensive, she demanded, "What's going on here?" She asked, "Why is my grandson here ... being questioned without legal representation?"

"Mrs. Austin ... we're doing no such thing."

"Then why do you have the school shyster here? If the school feels it needs to be represented, my grandson should have the same right."

(This was before the courts decided children had no rights. Before the courts decided that the schools acted as a parental unit. Before both parents had to work to make ends meet. The children spent more time under supervision of the school than they did the parents, therefore the school had the right to make decisions regarding the safety of the child. This was also before affluent parents decided that more than one child was too large a burden on their finances. Parents chose to have only one child and that child must be protected, coddled to the point of parents selecting to move to suburban localities where the entire neighborhood was like minded, equally wealthy and suitable as mates for their young.)