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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Childhood / Youth
- Published: 01/01/2014
The Legend Of Butch The Bully
Born 1944, M, from Los Angeles, California, United States.jpeg)
The Legend Of Butch The Bully
(A Tale For Grown-ups And Big Kids)
by Jimmie L. Sherman
COPYRIGHT 1993
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Every school has had a bully at one time or another. Thirteenth Street Elementary School was no exception. Our bully, Butch Hunter, used to mercilessly beat up on the peaceful fun-loving ten and eleven year olds daily. He was a big fifth grader, twelve years old and too tall, fat, and mean for anybody in our fifth grade class to whip in self-defense. Therefore, we had no choice, but to unwillingly tolerate his oppressive abuses.
“He’ll probably grow up to be a rapist or a robber,” I overheard Mr. Jones, the school ground janitor, telling another adult about Butch on my first day at that school. Butch had thrown little Fanny Johnson, a fourth grader, to the ground and was trying to force her to kiss him when Mr. Jones walked up to them and chased him away. But that was routine for Butch. For, everyday, he would try to force all the prettiest girls in our class to kiss him. That is, all except for one little girl named Lakiesha Robinson, who he wanted to also kiss, but respected too much to force.
Whenever he would move close enough to Lakiesha, she’d just smile and wiggle her fingers on his neck. And, of course, he’d drop his chin down to his chest, laugh impulsively, and jump away from her wiggling fingers. Yes, Butch was ticklish! And Lakiesha really enjoyed tickling him. She’d sometimes tickle his sides or under one of his arms to make him behave, for he was sensitive in those spots, too.
Everybody thought they’d probably get married someday because she really had her way with him. She was the only one in the whole school who could make him laugh, we thought. And we were thankful to her for it, for we always felt relieved whenever Butch wasn’t in an angry mood. We figured that, as long as he was in one of his rarely good moods, we didn’t have to worry about being challenged to an after-school fight. See, unfortunately, it was customary for both boys and girls alike to pay him part of their lunch money sometimes, or face a severe beating after school. And almost everyday there was an after school fight wherein Butch would always beat his non-violent opponent mercilessly. Because of this, and out of fear, some of the other kids rallied around him. They attended every fight, instigated, and cheered to show him they were on his winning side.
But I didn’t. Because, being a new student who had entered the fifth grade class late in the semester, I had a lot of studying and catching up to do. Plus, I didn’t believe in supporting bullies. And I knew that, in order to be successful, I had to stay out of trouble and learn as much as I could about math and science, especially. Those were some of the main reasons why I wanted to have nothing to do with Butch Hunter – and he sensed it! Yes, that may be the reason he resented me so much. He used to cut in front of me in the lunch line; he even pushed me out of place a few times. I’d have to go all the way back to the end of the line. I really hated that and he knew it. But to add insult to injury, he’d sometimes pop me (inflict a stinging slap upside the back of my head with his opened palm), and angrily demand, “Hurry up ol’ hook-headed fool…You’ just a new kid, and this is my school!” He did everything short of choking me, to try to pick a fight.
But, like I said earlier, I wanted to be a good student, stay out of fights, avoid trouble, and be somebody someday. Also, I must admit, I was somewhat afraid of being beaten to a pulp! For I was just a puny little kid who knew no martial arts. So, even though I felt deeply enraged and humiliated, I yielded to his unreasonably harsh demands, and remained a good hard working student. I studied, did my homework, and tried to be in harmony with teachers and students alike. I even tried to get along with Butch, since his seat was directly behind mine. But he didn’t wish to get along with me. Whenever I would raise my hand to answer a quiz question, he’d remind me of his misplaced contempt; he’d punch me a hard blow to my back, or thump the back of my head and whisper, “Why don’t you shut yo’ big mouth up, fool?”
Our teacher, Mrs. Hartley, used to be a nurse before entering the teaching profession. She’d often stress the wonders of the brain and nervous system. Then she’d quiz us. One day, for about the umpteenth time, she drew a picture of a brain onto the chalkboard, and labeled each part while enthusiastically stating, “This is the temporal lobe.” Then she asked, “And what does the temporal lobe help us to do, class?” And the class responded.
“Hear.”
“Because it’s connected to the?…” She pointed to me that day – on the very day that I had finally decided to never raise my hand again, for fear of being punched by Butch. But since I hadn’t raised my hand, I figured that he’d probably make an exception and let me answer it without penalty. Therefore, I took a chance and guessed at the answer.
“Ear?”
“Good,” she said, and that’s when that dirty no-good bully punched me in the back again! Only, this time, Mrs. Hartley caught him in the act.
“No recess for you today, Butch!” she angrily scolded him, then turned back to the board, pointed again to the brain and continued. “This area is called Wernicke’s Center… It’s the area of the brain where words or word meanings are realized... ” As she continued, her words faded out to unrealized background noises. Because, after she had turned back toward the chalkboard, Butch’s whispered threats began to dominate and drown out all else.
“Just wait ‘til school is out tattle tale – teacher’s pet! …’cause I’m gonna get you! I’m gonna knock you in yo’ pretty little jaw, you dirty snitching rat!” he growled, and instantly my sunny day turned hazy. I hadn’t even been hit in the jaw yet; yet, I was actually dazed as if I had been hit – dazed by the threat – a simple little threat, conveyed through mere words! How could it have made me react like that? – Like I had received a hard hammer-like blow to the head; or like I had been handed an irrevocable death sentence undeserved. Yes, my Wernicke’s Center is really working overtime, I thought. For I realized too well what Butch had meant – every word of it! He meant pain, bleeding, grabbing, choking, tussling, hard knuckles, cruelty, distress, torn clothes, the dirty gritty ground! I visualized it all, right down to the bloodthirsty crowd of instigating onlookers booing at me being drug through the dirt against my will. And for the remainder of the day, I couldn’t keep myself from trembling, dreadfully awaiting the horrifying ring of that last school bell.
After school, Butch was waiting for me at the exit gate, just as I had dreaded. A crowd of eager onlookers was standing at his rear and flanks, instigating – just as I had anticipated – anxious to see a fight.
“Uh-oooh, Butch is maaad today!” someone in the crowd shouted as I approached. Someone else, a girl’s voice, proclaimed, “Butch’ go’ kick yo’ you-know-what!” Other kids shouted other provocations, and the nearer I approached, the more I trembled with fear.
“Butch don’t like nobody talkin’ ‘bout his mama,” one of the boys loudly implied – though I had never said anything about anyone’s mother.
But still, it provoked that crazy Butch into a fit of rage! He rushed up to me and started pounding me with his fists, and yelling, “Talkin’ ‘bout my mama, huh?…I’m go’ kill you fo’ that!” He didn’t even give me a chance to get prepared. While still holding my books in my right hand, I immediately lost my temper, and hooked him in the stomach as hard as I could with my left fist!
But, uh-oh! He didn’t even feel it! It just seemed to make him madder! His ugly, cruel expression of rage quickly swelled into a frenzied-craze! He had gone completely out of his mind and into a state of temporary insanity!
Frightening – very frightening it was indeed! For I knew for certain that I was about to be torn apart! Killed! Therefore, in fear and with deepest regrets, I backed away, dropped my books, and started to run for my life!
“Help!” I screamed, hoping that a teacher would hear and come to stop that crazy boy and save me from the terrible beating I was about to receive. But, thanks to a staff meeting, there were no adults around. So, mad as a taunted beast thirsty for fresh blood, Butch chased and stalked me all around the schoolyard, cursing and threatening until he finally caught up with me. Then, violently and without mercy, he tackled me – threw me to the ground! And while on the ground, he grabbed me, choked me in a tight headlock grip, and commenced to pound his hard knuckles to the top of my head!
“You shouldn’t’ve hit me in th’ stomach ‘cause I’m go’ kill you now!” he growled vengefully between punches. And that’s when it occurred to me what I had to do to stop him from inflicting more pain. Yes, as he continued beating me mercilessly on my head, I began to wiggle one of my fingers under one of his armpits.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” I exclaimed, desperately hoping and praying that it’d work. And, like magic, thank God it did work; it worked immediately! For, immediately, he stopped pounding on me! Uncontrollably, he stopped! He stopped because he was ticklish and couldn’t help it, and not because he suddenly wanted to be at peace. And as he stopped, he began to laugh impulsively, loud and hard, releasing my neck unwillingly from his painful headlock grip! But even though he had released me, I continued to tickle him. I was too afraid to stop. The more I tickled, the harder he laughed and attempted to move away from my wiggling fingers. I tickled his sides, under his arms, and on his neck. And after a few seconds, he was completely out of breath from laughing and angrily demanding that I stop!
“Stop tickling! Stop! Stop now! …or …or I’ll kill you when I get up from here!” He cursed, threatened, and was extremely intimidating. And I was almost ready to submit, due to the fear of his threats. But then, I remembered how he had bluffed other kids, and how he would beat them up even after they had cooperated and complied with his ultimatums. Yes, I realized that if I let him up he’d start beating on me again, too. Plus, he needed to be taught a lesson for all the times he had punched me, thumped me, slapped me upside my head, pushed me out of the lunch line, and disrespected me with all of those humiliating threats and insults. So, as he frowned and opened his mouth to threaten me again, I stopped tickling him long enough to draw my fist back as far as I could, and swung my hardest blow to his face while he was in the middle of saying, “You better let…”
The impact of the blow made a loud smacking sound, similar to a splash, as my fist smashed squarely into his nose, and he began to cry instantly.
“Owww! Oooh! I’m go’ kill you now, you dawg!” he blurted vengefully. He was now bleeding from the nose and mouth, and there was bitter rage in his cry. He was much angrier than I had ever seen him before, and it scared me. His strength seemed to have increased tenfold, as he began forcing his way up, intending to murder me if he could! He was so strong, angry and determined, that I couldn’t hold him down any longer. So I almost panicked and was about to yield to his brute strength. But, out of desperation, I tickled him again. And again he started laughing uncontrollably.
At that point, we were both on our feet. Next, he managed to pull himself away – way away – to a reasonably safe distance from my wiggling fingers. So I stopped wiggling them for a moment, waved my fists at him, and tried to bluff him in my coldest tone, “You’ll get some more of this if you ever mess with me again! Now wipe yo’ bloody nose, crybaby!”
Someone in the crowd responded, “Wooo-we!” – while others just laughed, and others looked on, waiting tensely for Butch to react.
Butch wiped his nose on the back of his hand, looked at it, and for the first time noticed that he was bleeding. That’s when his angry eyes widened, his teeth clamped tightly together and made loud gritting noises, he huffed and puffed, and expressed an extreme killer’s rage, as he began to move toward me again! I was scared to death! As a matter of fact, I was about to turn and run, to plea for mercy, and probably get beaten to a pulp. But instead, I immediately changed my balled fists back into wiggling fingers and started moving toward him while smiling and saying, “Tickle, tickle, tickle.” And fortunate for me he stopped quickly in his tracks and began to move backward. Faster and faster he moved, as I moved toward him faster, until finally he turned and ran, and I “commenced t’ chasin’ after him” – chased him all the way home!
The next day at school, as I raised my hand to answer questions, and as I stood in the lunch line, Butch the bully didn’t mess with me – though he tried to bother some of the other girls and boys. But learning from me, as I had learned from my old pal, Lakiesha, the other girls and boys simply wiggled their little fingers and chanted, “Tickle, tickle, tickle.” And like magic, he backed away from them, too.
But you know how kids are: always eager to find a reason to laugh and have fun. Well, on that day they did indeed have fun – lots of fun – more fun and laughs than ever before! For they all wiggled their little fingers, backed old Butch into a corner, piled up on him and tickled, tickled, tickled. They even accidentally tickled each other! But they tickled Butch for so long, and he laughed so hard, that he peed on himself and became the laugh of the whole school!
And to this day, after many years have come and gone, at recess time, at Thirteenth Street Elementary School, the Legend Of Butch the Bully is reenacted daily, with lots of tickling, playing, and absolutely no more bullified fighting!
The Legend Of Butch The Bully(Jimmie L. Sherman)
The Legend Of Butch The Bully
(A Tale For Grown-ups And Big Kids)
by Jimmie L. Sherman
COPYRIGHT 1993
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Every school has had a bully at one time or another. Thirteenth Street Elementary School was no exception. Our bully, Butch Hunter, used to mercilessly beat up on the peaceful fun-loving ten and eleven year olds daily. He was a big fifth grader, twelve years old and too tall, fat, and mean for anybody in our fifth grade class to whip in self-defense. Therefore, we had no choice, but to unwillingly tolerate his oppressive abuses.
“He’ll probably grow up to be a rapist or a robber,” I overheard Mr. Jones, the school ground janitor, telling another adult about Butch on my first day at that school. Butch had thrown little Fanny Johnson, a fourth grader, to the ground and was trying to force her to kiss him when Mr. Jones walked up to them and chased him away. But that was routine for Butch. For, everyday, he would try to force all the prettiest girls in our class to kiss him. That is, all except for one little girl named Lakiesha Robinson, who he wanted to also kiss, but respected too much to force.
Whenever he would move close enough to Lakiesha, she’d just smile and wiggle her fingers on his neck. And, of course, he’d drop his chin down to his chest, laugh impulsively, and jump away from her wiggling fingers. Yes, Butch was ticklish! And Lakiesha really enjoyed tickling him. She’d sometimes tickle his sides or under one of his arms to make him behave, for he was sensitive in those spots, too.
Everybody thought they’d probably get married someday because she really had her way with him. She was the only one in the whole school who could make him laugh, we thought. And we were thankful to her for it, for we always felt relieved whenever Butch wasn’t in an angry mood. We figured that, as long as he was in one of his rarely good moods, we didn’t have to worry about being challenged to an after-school fight. See, unfortunately, it was customary for both boys and girls alike to pay him part of their lunch money sometimes, or face a severe beating after school. And almost everyday there was an after school fight wherein Butch would always beat his non-violent opponent mercilessly. Because of this, and out of fear, some of the other kids rallied around him. They attended every fight, instigated, and cheered to show him they were on his winning side.
But I didn’t. Because, being a new student who had entered the fifth grade class late in the semester, I had a lot of studying and catching up to do. Plus, I didn’t believe in supporting bullies. And I knew that, in order to be successful, I had to stay out of trouble and learn as much as I could about math and science, especially. Those were some of the main reasons why I wanted to have nothing to do with Butch Hunter – and he sensed it! Yes, that may be the reason he resented me so much. He used to cut in front of me in the lunch line; he even pushed me out of place a few times. I’d have to go all the way back to the end of the line. I really hated that and he knew it. But to add insult to injury, he’d sometimes pop me (inflict a stinging slap upside the back of my head with his opened palm), and angrily demand, “Hurry up ol’ hook-headed fool…You’ just a new kid, and this is my school!” He did everything short of choking me, to try to pick a fight.
But, like I said earlier, I wanted to be a good student, stay out of fights, avoid trouble, and be somebody someday. Also, I must admit, I was somewhat afraid of being beaten to a pulp! For I was just a puny little kid who knew no martial arts. So, even though I felt deeply enraged and humiliated, I yielded to his unreasonably harsh demands, and remained a good hard working student. I studied, did my homework, and tried to be in harmony with teachers and students alike. I even tried to get along with Butch, since his seat was directly behind mine. But he didn’t wish to get along with me. Whenever I would raise my hand to answer a quiz question, he’d remind me of his misplaced contempt; he’d punch me a hard blow to my back, or thump the back of my head and whisper, “Why don’t you shut yo’ big mouth up, fool?”
Our teacher, Mrs. Hartley, used to be a nurse before entering the teaching profession. She’d often stress the wonders of the brain and nervous system. Then she’d quiz us. One day, for about the umpteenth time, she drew a picture of a brain onto the chalkboard, and labeled each part while enthusiastically stating, “This is the temporal lobe.” Then she asked, “And what does the temporal lobe help us to do, class?” And the class responded.
“Hear.”
“Because it’s connected to the?…” She pointed to me that day – on the very day that I had finally decided to never raise my hand again, for fear of being punched by Butch. But since I hadn’t raised my hand, I figured that he’d probably make an exception and let me answer it without penalty. Therefore, I took a chance and guessed at the answer.
“Ear?”
“Good,” she said, and that’s when that dirty no-good bully punched me in the back again! Only, this time, Mrs. Hartley caught him in the act.
“No recess for you today, Butch!” she angrily scolded him, then turned back to the board, pointed again to the brain and continued. “This area is called Wernicke’s Center… It’s the area of the brain where words or word meanings are realized... ” As she continued, her words faded out to unrealized background noises. Because, after she had turned back toward the chalkboard, Butch’s whispered threats began to dominate and drown out all else.
“Just wait ‘til school is out tattle tale – teacher’s pet! …’cause I’m gonna get you! I’m gonna knock you in yo’ pretty little jaw, you dirty snitching rat!” he growled, and instantly my sunny day turned hazy. I hadn’t even been hit in the jaw yet; yet, I was actually dazed as if I had been hit – dazed by the threat – a simple little threat, conveyed through mere words! How could it have made me react like that? – Like I had received a hard hammer-like blow to the head; or like I had been handed an irrevocable death sentence undeserved. Yes, my Wernicke’s Center is really working overtime, I thought. For I realized too well what Butch had meant – every word of it! He meant pain, bleeding, grabbing, choking, tussling, hard knuckles, cruelty, distress, torn clothes, the dirty gritty ground! I visualized it all, right down to the bloodthirsty crowd of instigating onlookers booing at me being drug through the dirt against my will. And for the remainder of the day, I couldn’t keep myself from trembling, dreadfully awaiting the horrifying ring of that last school bell.
After school, Butch was waiting for me at the exit gate, just as I had dreaded. A crowd of eager onlookers was standing at his rear and flanks, instigating – just as I had anticipated – anxious to see a fight.
“Uh-oooh, Butch is maaad today!” someone in the crowd shouted as I approached. Someone else, a girl’s voice, proclaimed, “Butch’ go’ kick yo’ you-know-what!” Other kids shouted other provocations, and the nearer I approached, the more I trembled with fear.
“Butch don’t like nobody talkin’ ‘bout his mama,” one of the boys loudly implied – though I had never said anything about anyone’s mother.
But still, it provoked that crazy Butch into a fit of rage! He rushed up to me and started pounding me with his fists, and yelling, “Talkin’ ‘bout my mama, huh?…I’m go’ kill you fo’ that!” He didn’t even give me a chance to get prepared. While still holding my books in my right hand, I immediately lost my temper, and hooked him in the stomach as hard as I could with my left fist!
But, uh-oh! He didn’t even feel it! It just seemed to make him madder! His ugly, cruel expression of rage quickly swelled into a frenzied-craze! He had gone completely out of his mind and into a state of temporary insanity!
Frightening – very frightening it was indeed! For I knew for certain that I was about to be torn apart! Killed! Therefore, in fear and with deepest regrets, I backed away, dropped my books, and started to run for my life!
“Help!” I screamed, hoping that a teacher would hear and come to stop that crazy boy and save me from the terrible beating I was about to receive. But, thanks to a staff meeting, there were no adults around. So, mad as a taunted beast thirsty for fresh blood, Butch chased and stalked me all around the schoolyard, cursing and threatening until he finally caught up with me. Then, violently and without mercy, he tackled me – threw me to the ground! And while on the ground, he grabbed me, choked me in a tight headlock grip, and commenced to pound his hard knuckles to the top of my head!
“You shouldn’t’ve hit me in th’ stomach ‘cause I’m go’ kill you now!” he growled vengefully between punches. And that’s when it occurred to me what I had to do to stop him from inflicting more pain. Yes, as he continued beating me mercilessly on my head, I began to wiggle one of my fingers under one of his armpits.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” I exclaimed, desperately hoping and praying that it’d work. And, like magic, thank God it did work; it worked immediately! For, immediately, he stopped pounding on me! Uncontrollably, he stopped! He stopped because he was ticklish and couldn’t help it, and not because he suddenly wanted to be at peace. And as he stopped, he began to laugh impulsively, loud and hard, releasing my neck unwillingly from his painful headlock grip! But even though he had released me, I continued to tickle him. I was too afraid to stop. The more I tickled, the harder he laughed and attempted to move away from my wiggling fingers. I tickled his sides, under his arms, and on his neck. And after a few seconds, he was completely out of breath from laughing and angrily demanding that I stop!
“Stop tickling! Stop! Stop now! …or …or I’ll kill you when I get up from here!” He cursed, threatened, and was extremely intimidating. And I was almost ready to submit, due to the fear of his threats. But then, I remembered how he had bluffed other kids, and how he would beat them up even after they had cooperated and complied with his ultimatums. Yes, I realized that if I let him up he’d start beating on me again, too. Plus, he needed to be taught a lesson for all the times he had punched me, thumped me, slapped me upside my head, pushed me out of the lunch line, and disrespected me with all of those humiliating threats and insults. So, as he frowned and opened his mouth to threaten me again, I stopped tickling him long enough to draw my fist back as far as I could, and swung my hardest blow to his face while he was in the middle of saying, “You better let…”
The impact of the blow made a loud smacking sound, similar to a splash, as my fist smashed squarely into his nose, and he began to cry instantly.
“Owww! Oooh! I’m go’ kill you now, you dawg!” he blurted vengefully. He was now bleeding from the nose and mouth, and there was bitter rage in his cry. He was much angrier than I had ever seen him before, and it scared me. His strength seemed to have increased tenfold, as he began forcing his way up, intending to murder me if he could! He was so strong, angry and determined, that I couldn’t hold him down any longer. So I almost panicked and was about to yield to his brute strength. But, out of desperation, I tickled him again. And again he started laughing uncontrollably.
At that point, we were both on our feet. Next, he managed to pull himself away – way away – to a reasonably safe distance from my wiggling fingers. So I stopped wiggling them for a moment, waved my fists at him, and tried to bluff him in my coldest tone, “You’ll get some more of this if you ever mess with me again! Now wipe yo’ bloody nose, crybaby!”
Someone in the crowd responded, “Wooo-we!” – while others just laughed, and others looked on, waiting tensely for Butch to react.
Butch wiped his nose on the back of his hand, looked at it, and for the first time noticed that he was bleeding. That’s when his angry eyes widened, his teeth clamped tightly together and made loud gritting noises, he huffed and puffed, and expressed an extreme killer’s rage, as he began to move toward me again! I was scared to death! As a matter of fact, I was about to turn and run, to plea for mercy, and probably get beaten to a pulp. But instead, I immediately changed my balled fists back into wiggling fingers and started moving toward him while smiling and saying, “Tickle, tickle, tickle.” And fortunate for me he stopped quickly in his tracks and began to move backward. Faster and faster he moved, as I moved toward him faster, until finally he turned and ran, and I “commenced t’ chasin’ after him” – chased him all the way home!
The next day at school, as I raised my hand to answer questions, and as I stood in the lunch line, Butch the bully didn’t mess with me – though he tried to bother some of the other girls and boys. But learning from me, as I had learned from my old pal, Lakiesha, the other girls and boys simply wiggled their little fingers and chanted, “Tickle, tickle, tickle.” And like magic, he backed away from them, too.
But you know how kids are: always eager to find a reason to laugh and have fun. Well, on that day they did indeed have fun – lots of fun – more fun and laughs than ever before! For they all wiggled their little fingers, backed old Butch into a corner, piled up on him and tickled, tickled, tickled. They even accidentally tickled each other! But they tickled Butch for so long, and he laughed so hard, that he peed on himself and became the laugh of the whole school!
And to this day, after many years have come and gone, at recess time, at Thirteenth Street Elementary School, the Legend Of Butch the Bully is reenacted daily, with lots of tickling, playing, and absolutely no more bullified fighting!
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