Childhood Reminiscences: Girl Fight in the Cafeteria!!!

 

  

Eighth grade was probably my worst school year ever. For some reason, the following fall, all the "bad actors" had either moved away or dropped out, leaving me in peace. I don't know if a ninth-grader can drop out, unless of course, they had been left back enough times to be 16 or older in the ninth grade. That seems plausible. 

But I did go through some miseries in 8th grade. Hormones were probably a factor. Kids that age are restless and dreamy. They want to move forward, while society often makes them hold back. There's a sexual element that plenty of people discount. Many boys that year "put the moves on me," and teachers were protective of me. But when the girls started in, that was more of a gray area. Teachers often just tutted and shook their heads with a smile. Oh, those girls and their drama...

I had an acquaintance that year named Debbie McKane. She was in Special Ed. I don't remember how we got to be friends, or how we parted ways. I don't think we palled around that long. But at one point in the spring of 1972 we were in the habit of eating lunch together. One particular day, we sat across the table from each other in the cafeteria. Next to her, and next to me, were some other girls. I knew one of them vaguely, I think from Girl Scouts, as a matter of fact. Her name was Jeannie Reller. 

In our school, there was a sub-group of kids who habitually panhandled. You'd go through the cafeteria line with your tray, and there would be a kid standing there watching you get your change from the cashier. "Hey, you got a dime? Got a quarter? A nickel?" They knew you had the money because they saw the cashier put the coins in your hand. So whether you said yes or no depended upon four factors: 1-Your relationship with that person; 2-The size of the person relative to you; 3-How much courage you had saying no, and 4-How good you were at making up bullshit excuses for saying no ("I owe the gym teacher money for my equipment." "I promised my friend I'd buy Girl Scout cookies from her," etc.). This type of begging happened nearly every day. It really got tedious. 

Sometimes it wasn't even just the cafeteria line. These kids must really have needed money (probably for smokes -- kids could buy cigarettes back then. Yes, it was against the law, but basically as long as you had money, no one in the stores said anything, especially if you got them out of the machine. Yes, there were cigarette machines. Ah, the 1970s...). They were very, very persistent.

So there we were, Debbie and I, sitting across from each other, flanked by Jeannie and her friend. Debbie probably had a look of vulnerability about her. I probably did too, explaining why I was often preyed upon by bullies. But I was far less vulnerable than Debbie. I felt protective of her.

Jeannie's friend eyed Debbie, leaned in and said "Hey, can you loan me a quarter?" I caught Debbie's eye and shook my head minutely. "Don't do it," I tried to convey. But the other girl saw that. 

"Hey!" she said. "Mind your own effin' business!" To encourage me, perhaps, to mind my own business, she took the pizza crust off her plate and threw it at me. Jeannie turned to me and offered additional inspirational words in a similar vein. Then she kicked me under the table. 

I was intensively trained by my parents in the philosophy of Ignore Them and They'll Go Awayism. I think Marcus Aurelius or someone was a proponent. Not sure how it worked in Ancient Rome, but in modern Long Island, people in general did not like being ignored. The more you dug in your heels and just elected to endure, the more you had to endure. 

I guess I just got tired of enduring. Or maybe I was outraged that they were trying to beg off a special ed kid. Maybe I wasn't in the mood for pizza that day. Not sure what it was, but when Jeannie kicked me, I did the unthinkable: I kicked her back. She elbowed me. I elbowed her right back. 

She stood up.

I stood up.

And we went at it. Hair, clothes... It was basically a matter of finding some other part of the other person to grab and then hanging on. It couldn't have lasted very long. Immediately, the guys started pounding their fists on the table delightedly and chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Next thing I knew, Mr. Goelz was there, shoving us apart, escorting us out of the cafeteria. He told me to stand against the wall until he came back. He walked Jeannie down the hall. Shortly thereafter, I was still standing against the wall (because of course I was). He came back, bent down and said, in a very quiet voice, "As a teacher I cannot condone violence, but I just want you to know, it's nice to see you stick up for yourself for a change."

That was it.

Jeannie, I learned later, got two weeks' detention.

I got congratulated. 

I was very shaken, but when the class period ended, I walked on to my next class. Someone I knew saw me in the hall and yelled out "Animal!" I stopped and looked her right in the eye. She suddenly realized she was late for class, and that was that. 

So, eighth grade wasn't great. But it wasn't a total loss, either.