I need to make a correction that I failed to do when editing Part 9. I didn't go to Morris 3 years in a row. After the first year was completed, I wanted to come home and Momma sent me to Jesuit High School In Shreveport for my 8th grade year.
I knew a lot of kids there as most of them had either gone to St. Josephs where I did or were coming from other families that attended either of several Catholic Churches in the area. In any event, there was no bullying and I was among some friends that I had known my entire life.
Right off the bat, despite a comfortable student body population full of my friends from childhood, I had a run in with the infamous and hated Prefect of Dicipline, Father Junkin. It happened in the basement concession area where all the coin operated vending machines were located. As a normal and daily activity, we bought candy bars during break time, woofed them down and returned to class ready to get back with the program.
One day shortly after the beginning of the school year, "Punkin Junkin" was in the concession area. I bought a candy bar that morning and pretty much put the hole thing in my mouth after only 2 or 3 bites to reduce it in size enough to chew and not have to take the bar still in the wrapper, back to class.
Junkin saw me do that, came over to me and slapped me in the face harder than I had ever been hit in my life. I stood up to answer his question of "What are YOU doing".
When I told him I was trying to get the candy bar down so I could return to class and not be late. About that time he pointed his finger at me and said: "Butler, if you are ANYTHING like your brother, we don't want you". He told me then to report to his office after class. I did so but I don't remember what he said as I was too focused on hitting him in the face with a base ball or simply running away from this red cheek, drunk looking, sorry ass example of a priest. At that point in time, I simply decided that I would start skipping school to get kicked out.
Leland was with Uncle Raymond and Aunt Glade in Crowley, Louisiana, going to school down there and I was using his 1958 Cushman Eagle to get to and from school. Whem Momma redeived my report card and saw the number of days I had skipped, despite knowing about the Father Junkin episode, she took away the Eagle and made me ride the bus. I intentionally did things to get kicked off the bus whenever I had one of those days when I wanted to set fire to Father Junkins' pants or hit him in the head with a baseball.
At the end of the 8th grade year, my report card came out as a "CONDITIONAL" promotion to the 9th grade. The condition surrounded a mandate to go to summer school at Junkins house of hell, OR repeat the 8th grade. I asked Momma, NO, I begged Momma to let me go back to Morris School in Searcy, Arkansas. Again, another great decision by Momma even though I would have to repeat the 8th grade as part of the deal. I didn't care because I knew I was going to do something a hell of a lot worse than throw a chalk filled eraser at Junkin if I had to go back.
The fighter in me had been hatching for years, but he was born the second Junkin hit me. This wasn't the last time I had a run in like this but it was only going to happen one more time.
In any event, having missed a full year at Morris while I was attending Jesuit, I returned and saw many of my former school mate buddies still there. I also saw Saparito, a kid from Chicago who tortured me every week during my seventh grade year.
He never really beat me up but he would walk by, double up his fist, extend his middle finger, slightly bent at the middle knuckle joint, and make what he called a "frog". He would walk up to you and hit you in the back, in the ribs, the arms and occassionally, if he could get a free shot, he would hit me in the chest. It hurt like hell.
Brother Robert Desmond, who had coached boys basketball, saw that I had grown like crazy and was now 6 feet tall instead of the 5'9" example that I was as a 7th grader. I liked him as he was a square shooter and he liked me and my family, all of whom he knew. He was glad to see me back and said, as I approached him on my first day back: "Finally, a 6' center for the Morris Mustangs basketball team". We shook hands and I agreed to play on the team.
Later on the first day, I went out back to the tennis courts where the swing sets and picnic tables were located. Before long, Brother Robert, who was not far from where I was sitting, watched Saparito approach me as I was still sitting on the picnic bench.
Not being able to see the additional height and weight I had added in the year and 3 months since he'd seen me, Saparito approached me with that "frog" and a shit eating grin that usually announced a bad time for his victim.
Before he could administer the first hit, I got up, and now, towering over him and out weighing him by 15 pounds or so, a look of shock came over his face. Before he had time to close his mouth, I had a head lock on him and, as I spun him around my outstretched leg, I threw him on down on his back and, as he was laying in the dust, that "Oh my God" look came to his face as he knew there was payback in the air.
I began a speech to the effect that today was pay back day. I began hitting him with the frog on every square inch of exposed body including his head. "Hows that feel", I yelled? I added: "Remember how many times you hit me in 7th grade?", and I'd keep peppering that frog all over his arm, head and chest.
He was squeeling, begging and promising to never to pick on anybody again if I would just let him up. Well, as it turned out, since Brother Robert had seen Saparito pick on so many of the smaller kids, (including me) he took his time meandering down the hill to the tennis courts as I continued with what I called a mortal ass whipping.
I stopped when Brother Robert arrived and I let Saparito up. Brother Robert asked him to remember how many times he'd told him to stop picking on the smaller boys. Sap just said he would never, ever, ever do it again. Needless to say, I had a bully free year from then on and not one little kid in school had anything to worry about from the bully department.
Greg, my first cousin, was already somewhat familiar with the lay out as his daddy, my Uncle Charles was a graduate of Morris as was his brother, Greg's Uncle Joe.
Greg and I always were close and after that good ole fashion ass whipping that I gave Saparito, I told Greg that if any of the bigger boys gave him the least amount of trouble, simply let me know and I would handle it. He reciprocated by offering to take care of the little ones who sometimes liked to get the bigger, faster, stronger boys in trouble....................for any reason at all.
In any event, that's how my first day back at Morris started. They were thrilled to see a 6' center to assist Joe Murray, another Chicago boy who could play round ball like no body's bidness and they were beside themselves to see Greg who would be a second generation Morris student.
All things considered, we were thrilled to be back in the mountains where over night camping by the river at Letona Bluffs, with all it's caves, was a sure thing and squirrel hunting was an annual rite of passage and a custom that had been in place for many years.
It allowed us to raise the "pinkies" until their eyes opened and we could put them in our shirt pockets while we fed them milk from a barbie doll milk bottle. Soon, we could put them on our shoulders and walk around campus with them staying in place like all well trained squirrels should.
8th Grade was cool for me. Greg and I were both crazy glad to be back in the Ozark mountains/woods, especially with guys like Brother Robert leading the way. He was an outdoorsman to say the least and, later in life, gave classes to mountain climbers in Colorado.
Things went down as they should have and the year sailed by with a few highlights when Greg and I got to ride the Continental Bus home for Thanksgiving and again during Christmas. We are still in touch with one of the Brothers who is now a priest and a couple of the students that came there. I speak to one from Cuba at least once a year.
More coming, stand by.
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