"So I Started a Gang" Submission #20

I tried starting a gang once. Yes, in Madrid, Iowa. Rough town surrounded by cornfields. A boy has to do what a boy has to do to survive the tough streets of Madrid.

I know, I know… could I have had a more stupid idea? Maybe… but not likely.

Where was this idea born?

My brother, Bill, gave me a book called, “Run Baby Run.” It was the story of a kid named Nicky Cruz from Puerto Rico, who moved to New York City as a child. He grew up on the streets and ended up joining a notorious street gang called the Mau Maus. He eventually worked his way to the top of the gang and the book, very graphically, chronicles every gory detail of his ascension.

Now… the real point of the book is Cruz’s glorious conversion to Christianity under the street ministry of David Wilkerson. Maybe you have heard of the film adaptation of this biography called “The Cross and the Switchblade.” I was totally fascinated with the story up until the conversion part… I’m ashamed to admit today.

I was captivated how this gang terrorized and intimidated everyone they came in contact with. When someone wanted to join the Mau Maus, they had to be “jumped in,” which meant they were beat up by several of the gang members and if they could withstand the punishment, they were in. It all sounded so cool… to a 7^th grader in the great Midwest.

My friend, Ed Burke and I would take turns reading portions of the book out loud. We discussed starting the Madrid Mau Maus. The shed in my backyard would be our meeting place. We would invite only the coolest and the toughest.

Yes… I am laughing and shaking my head as I type.

Mac Cowles, John “Scrounge” Long, Curt Chapman, Kevin Gibbons… these were a few of the initial

invitees. All of them were interested enough to come to our first meeting in the shed. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about. Gang stuff, I guess. Who we were going to intimidate first, maybe. I do remember that we lit some matches. Not sure why. Gang members like fire?

Our first order of business was whether to accept the Lombardi brothers, Scott and Tony, into our elite group. The vote was affirmative but only if they could withstand the gauntlet. One at a time, they had to travel through the members, lined up on two sides, as everyone threw punches and kicks. If they made it through, to

the other end, they were in.

Scott went first and was pummeled from the get go. I remember he fell down and had to crawl to the other end of the shed. I don’t think anyone had the heart to do too much damage and he ended up making it through without any real injury. His eyes were red and watery. He was happy to be done.

As we finished with Scott, our attention turned to his younger brother, Tony. But Tony must have thought better than to offer himself up to the blood thirsty 12-year-olds, because he was nowhere to be found. He must have exited during Scott’s initiation. Smart kid.

As co-Presidents, Ed and I had to wear something that made us stand out. We talked about some sort of leather wrist band but settled on a heavy chain bracelet. Gang leaders must accessorize.

A few days later, Brian “Huffy” Huffstutler got wind of the newly formed gang and was dying to be a part of it. We were at school, on a break after lunch. We stood in front of the three-story school building, near the street.

“What do I have to do, Muns?” Huffy pleaded, “Name it!”

Thinking back to the “jump-in” initiation from the book, I modified the protocol as I told him to turn his head away from me and turn back when I told him to a few seconds later. Huffy obediently turned his head as I slipped my heavy chain bracelet over the knuckles on my right hand.

“Ok Huff, turn around.” I said

He turned his head and before he could focus his eyes, I slugged him on his left cheek as the chain dug into my knuckles, taking the skin with them.

Huffy fell against the tree and slithered down in a squatting position with his face in his hands. He stayed that way for quite some time as a small crowd gathered. Eventually he got up and smiled. A welt in the shape of the chain links protruded from his cheek.

He had taken a shot from all five foot one inch, and 80 pounds of me… and lived to tell the story. Huffy was in.

We never beat anyone up. We never intimidated anyone. Heck, we never even had a second meeting. The Mau Maus disbanded prior to ever wreaking havoc on the scared souls of Madrid, Iowa.

The memories of our gang faded into the mist of time, never to be brought up again… until a couple years later.

"First Kiss or First Miss?" Submission #19

I guess Joni and I began to do all the things required of junior high couples… we doodled each other’s names on our notebooks and the covers on our books (brown paper sacks from the grocery store… cut, folded and fitted around the book… a lost art), we smiled awkwardly at each other when our eyes accidently met in class or as we were walking in the hallways… but most important of all, we sat by each other at the high school sporting events, flanked by our respective entourages. Having these posses with us was crucial because they created just enough distraction to dilute the tension that would have been created had we been alone and forced to actually converse.

795-2108… that was her phone number. Sometimes I would sit and stare at the phone for long periods of time… trying to gather the courage to dial those numbers. More times than not… I’d talk myself out of it.

As with the entourage aspect… I again needed some sort of a distraction in order to aid me in making that call. Was that just me? Was I so lacking in game that I had to resort to such childish antics or was that par for the course at age 12? I always felt that it was just me.

Anyway… so, I had a tape recorder, a modern marvel of American technology and innovation. I loved listening to the radio and when a good song came on, I’d hit the “record” button to capture the recording of my favorite songs. It was the iTunes of the day minus the cost… and the quality.

Those recordings began to be my method of breaking the ice when I called my girlfriend. She’d answer the phone and I’d hit the “play” button. Within a few seconds, I’d stop the music and ask her if she knew the title of the song. It was our own, personal “Name That Tune” game. We had fun with it. We have actually talked and laughed about it in recent years… some 40+ years later.

I spent the night with Mac Cowles one Friday night, shortly after Joni and I had become an “item.” As was typical, Mac and I stayed up half the night talking about all sorts of things but… primarily… girls! Eventually, the conversation led to the inevitable question: “When are you going to kiss her, Muns?”

Trust me, I had asked myself that question almost from the minute this budding relationship began. But remember… I was the smooth operator that couldn't even hand her a ring… how in the world was I going to muster the courage to plant a wet one on her? But… I HAD to do it now. Mac’s question had morphed into a personal challenge.

My plan began to unfold. The next Friday, the high school basketball team had an away game. The school provided a “pep bus” as transportation for students to travel to the game. I had confirmed that Joni was planning to go and of course we would sit by each on the bus and at the game. Junior high relationship law. After we got back… I would walk her home… and then I would do it… I would kiss her goodnight.

Wait. How exactly do you kiss? I mean, I kissed my mom on the cheek occasionally but I was certain that this kiss had to differ greatly from that!

So, I practiced on the mirror. There… I said it. You probably did too… so stop judging me.

Friday night arrived. To say I was nervous was an understatement. Per protocol, I’d lined up a wingman for the event… Scott Lombardi… or “Squealer” as he had affectionately become known. He earned the nickname because of an extra-long transition period between his “boy voice” and his “man voice.” Sort of a Peter Brady syndrome.

We traveled to the game that night and, of course, I couldn't concentrate on the game. On the ride home, I had concluded that I needed to abort the operation. Call it off. Pull the plug. When I communicated my newly changed plans to Scott… he wouldn't let me even think about backing out now. He was not going to miss out on this ground breaking event.

The bus pulled up to the “bus barn” at the corner of 1^st and Main, across the street from the school. Joni lived about a half block away. That short walk did not supply me adequate time to calm my nerves. I walked about as slow as a kid could walk. Scott walked on ahead, giving me my space, but frequently whipping his head around, determined not to miss the fireworks.

We reached her house and then stood there… awkwardly… for what seemed to be an eternity. I think she sensed what was coming and was probably, secretly amused.

It was cold outside and not conducive for long good-byes. Scott was about a half block up the road with his hands thrust deeply in his pockets as he hopped up and down… trying to stay warm. He was running out of patience. I think Joni was running out of patience also.

“Well, I gotta go. Bye.” She said as she turned to walk toward her front door.

For a brief moment, I was disappointed and relieved at the same time. But before I could walk away, Squealer’s high pitched voice pierced the darkness. “C’mon Munson! Aren’t you going to kiss her? You can’t back out now!”

Joni stopped and turned around before she opened her door and I thought, “It’s now or never.”

I dashed up her walkway, forgetting about technique and all of the practicing on the mirror. I put one arm around her and awkwardly gave her a quick peck. I honestly aimed for the lips but in my haste, I’m pretty sure I got mostly chin.

I did it! I didn’t do it well… but I did it! I kissed Joni Dalton. As far as anyone else knew… I turned her legs to jelly… at least, that’s what I wanted to think.

Our romantic relationship lasted a good eight… or nine… basketball games. In real time, that’s maybe two months.

Despite my suave and debonair ways… she left me for an older man… a WAY older man. Tim
Wisecup was in high school for goodness sakes! He was just toying with her. Of course, they would never, ever last.

They’re still together today and are perfect for each other. They live life to the fullest and always find a way to still be kids at heart. I didn't really know Tim back then, I just considered him a thief. Today, I consider him a friend.

Ha ha... my first kiss...

"Chicks and Popularity" Submission #18

Popularity is a concept that creeps into the consciousness of most kids at some point, early in life. For me, it was about junior high. Like most kids, I wanted it, but didn't want to be obvious in my pursuit of it.

A quick self-assessment yielded a few conclusions...

Looks: Somewhere north of hideous.

Athleticism: Better than some, not as good as others. Probably in the upper 50^th percentile.

Intelligence: It was there… somewhere… largely untapped and lacking in regular exercise.

Wit: Quick. Sometimes cutting. Fed when it generated a laugh but ignored when it hurt feelings. (Not a good thing)

Were these the ingredients sufficient for a popularity pie? I didn't know but would soon put them to the test.

Seventh grade was a good year. It was my third full school year in Madrid and I felt like I was hitting my stride. I hung out with a group of guys that seemed to garner the most notoriety and attention… Ed Burke, Mark Gibbons, Mac Cowles, John Long, Kevin Gibbons, Scott Lombardi… to name a few.

And then there were the girls… ah yes, the girls.

I already had a couple GINO’s (Girlfriend In Name Only) in the 5^th and 6^th grades… Lori Smiley, Mary Bimbi… maybe a couple more. But this was now 7^th grade and time to step up my game. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant or where it would lead me… but I knew it was time.

Actual photo of Joni... a couple years prior to 7th grade

As I scanned the female landscape of the Madrid Junior High School, there were a number of pretty, smart and nice girls, but for my money, one stood out… Joni Dalton. She had long, brown hair, was very outgoing and extremely kind. I didn't know of anyone who didn't like her.

Rule number one in the pursuit of a girlfriend in junior high is similar to rule number one for a lawyer in the courtroom… only ask a question if you already know the answer. And in this case, the answer must be in the affirmative or I was abandoning my mission! I dispatched my good buddy, Mac, to infiltrate and collect the needed intelligence.

We were all on the blacktop playground on the west side of the three-story school building. You
could hear the chatter of pre-adolescent boys as they worked in unison to get the merry-go-round spinning a million miles an hour. The girls, on the other hand, talked quietly in groups of two and three. We always thought they were talking admirably about us boys, when in reality, they were comparing notes about Donny Osmond.

Mac approached a small pack of young females and motioned for Joni to come talk to him. He was cool and well-rehearsed as he articulately posed the complex, emotion filled question, “If Bart asked you, would you go with him?”

“Go with him?” “Go steady with him?” “Go out with him?” “Be his girlfriend.” Whatever the vernacular of that day, necessary to procure your buddy a girlfriend… that’s what Mac asked.

I watched from a distance… palms sweating, heart racing. I looked for a clue as to her answer. An enthusiastic nodding of the head accompanied by an ear to ear grin would suffice. I saw neither. Five seconds after Mac initiated contact with her, he was heading toward the school doors as the bell had rung, signaling us that the teachers were once again ready to torture us with grammar worksheets and useless mathematical formulas.

I fought through the sweaty crowd of fellow students until I caught up with Mac. I grabbed him by the arm. “Well?!?”

“She said yes.” He said, matter-of-factly… then he smiled.

I smiled too… as the butterflies took to flight in my stomach. Now what do I do?

I lay in bed that night, running scenarios in my mind about how to actually ask Joni to be my girlfriend. I was always much braver in my imagination at night than I was in reality the next day. In my vivid imagination, I was Romeo… minus the puffy shirt and long hair… in realty, I was a blithering idiot, yet to master the English language.

Days passed. I couldn't work up the courage. Any script that I had mentally prepared the night before always seemed to melt into a pile of nonsense when the time came to actually approach her. 

I needed a prop… a symbol… something that took some off the attention off of me and my words.

A ring! That’s what I needed. Chicks dig jewelry.

I had no money and Madrid had no stores that sold rings even if I did have money. Maybe mom had one.

Mom seemed to get a kick out of my request as she lugged her jewelry box from her bedroom to the kitchen table. As she opened it up, I saw a veritable treasure chest of cheap, costume jewelry. Avon specials. Mom didn't own anything expensive.

She helped me pick out a gaudy ring with a huge, diamond shaped setting made up of small red, white and blue phony stones. It was big enough to cover half of Joni’s hand… almost. And it had that fancy, one-size-fits-all band that you could push the end up under the setting until it fit perfectly.

If this didn't sweep her off her feet… I didn't know what would!

I had Mac give her the ring for me.

I didn't know if she liked it but when I passed her in the hallway, she was wearing it. Couldn't miss it. She smiled at me and my heart melted.

And so it began…

But where would it lead?