# 23 Childhood cruelties In an era where there was no such thing as ‘political correctness’, it was not unusual for us to find pleasure in childish cruelties. There was a candy store/luncheonette (the Spa?) down the street from P.S. 106 where I attended kindergarten through 6th grade (under the benevolent despotism of Principal Florence Shulman). The store was run by an older couple and their assistant, order-taker and floor mopper, was their homely, hulking son. I never recall seeing him smile, nor did he ever engage any of us in social conversation. The reason for his grimness was that he worked from 8 AM to 6 PM, 6 days a week, and probably had no stimulus to smile. The reason for his lack of banter – hard work aside – was that he had an intractable case of stuttering which made every sentence an exercise in societal mortification. After school – I don’t think we were allowed out at lunchtime (?) – a group of us would race over to get several adjoining seats at the counter (there were probably only 6-8 seats total). The son would ask the first guy in the row what he wanted to eat and he’d answer “Give me an order or french fries”. The rest of the guys would say they hadn’t decided yet. He’d call out to his father, the grill man, “Gimme an order of f... f.... fr... fr... fr... french fr...fr...fr....fr...fr...fries”. There were suppressed giggles at the counter. He then ask the second guy what he wanted. He’d ask for “an order of french fries” and the rest of us would say we hadn’t decided yet. Another bout of tortured “f... f... fr... f... fr... frnch... f... f...fr... fr... fries would ensue, with an occasional audible giggle from the customers. And so it went until we had all ordered. Five individual orders of “french fries” to be called out with the childish glee growing in magnitude. This didn’t happen every day. Only about twice a week for one school year. We weren’t insensitive after all! Graduating from elementary school, we refined our skills in junior high school. We had an aging teacher who, on a day when she didn’t wear nylon stockings, and would turn to face the blackboard, would hear someone call from the back of the classroom, “Ms. Rosen, your stockings are slipping down!” She’d quickly sit down behind the modesty panel on her desk to adjust her status and be able to look out on a sea of smugly smiling, angelic faces. We also had a teacher who was hard of hearing and wore one of the large hearing aids that were common at the time. During a quiet time in class, one of us would walk up to her desk and say “Mrs. Harley (normal voice), may I please leave the room?” (in a mumbled whisper). Mrs. Harley would say “pardon me?”, and look at our lips. We’d respond “Mrs. Harley, may I please leave the room?”. She’d say “pardon me” again, and, convinced by now that her hearing aid was malfunctioning, she’d tap the earpiece and turn up the amplifier knob to full volume. We’d then say with full clarity and vocal volume “MRS. FARLEY, MAY I PLEASE LEAVE THE ROOM?” The full effect in her ear must have been quite painful. Her body would lunge backward as though she’d been struck, and she’d quickly adjust the amplifier knob again to restore normal status. We’d stand there as though oblivious as to what had occurred and await excusal from the room. It was a gag that never seemed to age and it happened again and again. Maybe I was destined to participate in these events to lead me to adopt a more compassionate lifestyle. I like to think so.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Dec 2014 02:50:39 +0000
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