"Bad Butterflies" - Submission #36

For the sake of context, I suggest you go back and read “So I started a Gang” Submission #20. I quote from that entry here:

“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.”

I think it was the spring of 1974… April or May. The weather was starting to warm up and the final semester of my freshman year of high school was winding down. It had been a horrible year for me and I could not wait for the school year to end.

I had become so insecure that I didn’t even want to be seen in public for fear that I’d be whispered about and pointed at. I felt like a leper that was to be avoided at all costs. Even the guys that, at one time, were my very best friends… Marc Carlson (Carlo), Mark Gibbons (Sparky) and Greg Drake… seemed cold and distant. They quit calling me. Quit coming over to the house. Quit including me in their plans.

It was painful… emotionally… even physically.

At the end of each school day, my routine was the same… rush to my locker, throw my books on the top shelf, scurry out the south door and walk home. My route was always the same… south on the sidewalk that ran parallel to Highway 17… past Dunns Sure Save grocery store, past the bowling alley and down to 2^nd Street where I crossed the highway and finished my trek a block west on 2^nd.

One day as school ended, I started my departure routine. I arrived at my locker and before I could spin the lock combination, I glanced to my right and noticed a small group of guys standing with Brian Huffstutler (Huffy) near his locker. They were all staring at me. Odd.

I opened my locker, tossed my books on the shelf and then slowly looked around the locker door… they were still there. They were still staring. Huffy was smiling… sort of an evil grin.

Something was up.

I felt a sliver of dread run through my body as my chest tightened and my mouth grew dry. I had butterflies in my stomach. They weren’t good butterflies… like when you were excited about something… they were bad butterflies that came with the feeling of impending doom.

As the hallway began to empty out, I stood at my locker and started pulling out my books… one at a time. I would slowly leaf through them, my brow furrowed… intently searching for… nothing. I was killing time.

Occasionally, I would cast a stealth glance to my right, past my locker door. Huffy and his posse were still there… talking, laughing… shooting looks in my direction.

My stalling tactics lasted a good 20 minutes. I ran out of books and papers to peruse. I couldn’t stand at my locker all night. Whatever was going to happen… was going to happen.

The hallway was now quiet as most of the students had vacated the building and headed home. I slowly closed my locker and headed toward the door.

I remember being greeted by a bright sun, blue skies and warm temperatures. The coat that I had worn that morning was now tied around my waist. I headed down the diagonal sidewalk, still on school property. I was walking at a brisk pace. I didn’t look back.

The school property ended where the diagonal sidewalk intersected with the sidewalk that ran north and south… parallel with the highway. On the other side of the highway, a truck of stoners… Huffy’s friends, had parked on the shoulder of the road. They were waiting for a show.

At about that moment, I heard Huffy’s voice… “Hey Munson.”

I turned around and the first thing I saw was the glimmer of the bright sun reflecting off a silver chain that was wrapped around Huffy’s clenched, right fist. The blow hit me on my right jaw.

Sweet revenge, huh? Good memory, Huffy. Payback time I guess.

Huffy wasn’t an imposing figure and despite the fact that his punch was aided by a chain, it didn’t knock me down. Heck, it didn’t even wobble me.

One of the guys in the truck hollered, “He ain’t down yet, Huffy!”

I looked at Huffy… waiting the second punch but it never came. If it did, I would have defended myself. We would have had a full on scrap. But as it turned out… we didn’t.

Why didn’t I swing back? Why did I let him hit me without a physical response? Did I feel overmatched? No. Not in the slightest. Then why?

I thought about this often, sometimes obsessively… over the next days, weeks, months… even years.

In my mind… this fight wasn’t between Brian Huffstutler and Bart Munson. It was the guys in the truck against me. It was Kevin Gibbons against me. It was Carlo, Sparky and Greg against me. It was all of my former friends against me. It was my family against me. It was Madrid, Iowa against me.

I could fight back against one guy but I was overwhelmed with the size and scope of my enemy. At least… my perceived enemy. And we all know the saying, “Perception is reality.”

I stood there. Hands at my sides.

Huffy sneered at me. Told me what he thought of me. Advised me to watch my back. Then he jogged across the highway and hopped into the bed of the pick-up truck as it headed toward town.

My route home changed that day and for the remaining time that I lived in Madrid. No longer did I walk along Highway 17 to 2^nd Street. That whole way was high traffic. The most traveled roads in Madrid.

Instead, I crossed the highway almost immediately and would jog behind the Dairy Sweet and would walk through backyards. Every time I came to a road, I would stay hidden by a house, or shrubs until I could see that no cars were coming from either direction. Once the coast was clear, I’d sprint across the street and duck in between houses again. I would follow this zig zag pattern until I reached the houses across from my own house on 2^nd Street. Because that was the busiest street in town… I’d sometimes wait minutes before the road was clear of cars in both directions and then I’d sprint to my house.

I did this every school day for more than a year. I learned what houses had dogs in their backyard and which houses didn’t. I learned who had sheds, canoes, vegetable gardens and who hung their clothes out to dry.

I didn't want to be seen. I didn't want to be a target. 

I hated life and I wanted out.

"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.