I mean it was sad — he had a wife and a little kid and he wasn’t very old — but I just thought the scene in the common room was a little much. To tell the truth, the thing I was really thinking about was how much death there seemed to be around me all of a sudden. I’d gone through most of my life up to that point without thinking about death and dying hardly at all. About the only time I’d ever thought about it was when my grandpa died, and he was really old which made it seem okay. Or when somebody famous, an athlete, or an entertainer or some world leader, died. And those deaths seemed really far away.
But just in the last while there’d been Uncle Herm and now Mr. Saarkahn. And there were the pictures Mr. R had shown us of all the bodies piled up in ditches during the war. But then maybe that didn’t count. I mean, had those pictures been real? Didn’t matter; they looked real. And it all seemed part of an awful lot of death. I don’t know if it scared me or what, but I know I didn’t like it.
My first class that day was social with Mr. R and I was interested to hear what he’d have to say about the death of a teacher.
And what he said was nothing — at least nothing about Mr. Saarkahn.
Mr. R had the lights off and the blinds closed when we went into the room but that was no big deal since he usually did that when he was putting something up on the screen. But that wasn’t it. He sat at his desk in the semi-dark looking at us and saying nothing. So then I thought, okay, this is like having the flag at half-mast or something and this was Mr. R’s way of paying tribute to a fellow teacher. Wrong again.
After we’d sat looking at him — and around the room at each other — for a few minutes, Mr. R got out of his chair, walked to the computer table he had at the front of the room, and sat on the corner of it.
“I want you to think about the things that make you the angriest.” He was speaking in a low voice like he did when he was building up to something dramatic. So I still figured it was about Mr. Saarkahn.
“Whether it’s someone who has let you down or lied to you, or something that someone did to you or someone you care about, or maybe it’s something bigger — something big that’s happening around you that you don’t like but can’t do anything about. I want you to think about that and to keep that thought in your head.”
We all sat and thought for a while. I came up with two things that really pissed me off — one was how Diana McNair acted whenever she saw me in the halls. She’d stick her finger in her mouth like she was going to gag or she’d point at me and move her lips and the words she was mouthing weren’t the kind you tossed out during Sunday roast-beef dinners. Or she’d give me the finger. Nice.
I didn’t figure that was exactly what Mr. R had in mind, though, so my second choice was when my dad had promised to take us all to Disneyland, and then didn’t. I think I was about eight or nine, and I’d been looking forward to it for months. I’d told all the kids I knew that we were going to Disneyland; my brother was maybe fourteen and he saved up his money and bought all these clothes he thought would make him look cool in California. Even Mom was pretty stoked about the whole thing. And then, bingo, no trip. And not much explanation either. Just some lame “we can’t afford it right now” crap.
I think my dad’s a pretty good guy and an okay dad and everything, but getting us all pumped about that trip and then taking it away from us is something I guess I’ll always hold against him.
I didn’t know what Mr. R had in mind but I figured we’d all sit around in the dark and talk about what it was that made each of us really angry. Which was fine as long as it didn’t get all touchy-feely. I took psychology for an option in grade nine and there was a lot of that. It was stupid. And fairly useless unless the teacher’s goal (the amazing Mrs. Storch, who was like a hundred and had a moustache) was to have a classroom full of giggling students.
I wasn’t sure what the whole “angry” thing had to do with social but I knew Mr. R would have something cool going on before it was all over.
I was half right about what was going to happen. I had the sit-around-in-the-dark-and-talk part right. Except we didn’t do much talking — not the students, I mean. Mr. R did all the talking, at least at first.
“We’ve talked about the war, its causes, some of the terrible things that took place during the war, about the politics of war, and of that war in particular. But we haven’t talked about the thing about World War II that makes me angriest.” He raised his voice on the word “me” and then dropped it way down again when he said “angriest.”
“What do people remember about the war? Well, if they had a loved one or someone they knew well who was killed or badly wounded in the fighting, they remember that. And they should.
“Or they might remember how difficult it was for the people back home, who had to do amazing things because so many of the men were away fighting. And they should.
“Or they might remember the great speeches of Churchill, or Roosevelt, or Mackenzie King. And they should.”
Mr. R waited for a minute or so and then in a much softer voice he said, “Or they might remember something that has come to be called ‘the Holocaust’.”
There was a long moment of silence and I’m pretty sure every kid in the class noticed, just like I did, that he didn’t say “and they should” on that last point.
After a minute or so, Mr. R cleared his throat. “T-Ho, tell me something that makes you angry.”
I figured T-Ho would about faint at having to be the first to speak but he hardly even hesitated. “I hate it when people are cowards. I used to play hockey and I’d hate it when a guy would give you a dirty hit and so you’d go after the guy and he wouldn’t fight. He’d just turtle. I hate it when somebody turtles … that pisses me … uh … makes me angry.”
“Good, T-Ho,” Mr. R nodded. “An excellent example and just the kind of thing I wanted to hear about. Rebel, what about you?”
I figured Mr. R had lost it. First T-Ho and then Rebel. No teacher ever asked a question and then got two members of The Six to answer it. Except there was that after school thing with Mr. R and T-Ho and Rebel. Maybe that was setting this up — having them answer in class. Except what would be the point? Mr. R could have had any kid in that room give him an answer. A good answer.
I was still thinking about that when Rebel gave his answer.
“People who use their position to take advantage of others. That really bothers me.”
What? Had I heard that correctly? This was Rebel, the guy who didn’t say much most of the time and never said anything in school unless he absolutely had to, and when he did, it was a couple of grunts and a shrug. That Rebel had just given a very good answer and he didn’t hesitate or stutter … nothing. Spoke like he was the valedictorian.
“Excellent, Rebel, excellent. Patti, how about you?”
Patti hesitated for a few seconds. I wondered if she was feeling like I was. I was trying to figure out if what I was going to say when it was my turn would totally blow.
“I guess I’m angered by the fighting in the Middle East and how so many people — soldiers and civilians — are dying needlessly.”
Mr. R smiled a little at Patti, who I noticed didn’t smile back. He didn’t say anything but looked over at me. “Andy?”
I was Andy again. Damn. It was like I had to keep proving myself to be Alamo to Mr. R. And for some reason — right then — I wanted to be Alamo. It was like I wanted Mr. R to like me as well as he liked T-Ho and Rebel. Jesus, I wanted to be as popular as T-Ho and Rebel. Now that was a thought I never expected to have.
I stumbled through my story about the cancelled trip to Disneyland, and the further along I got the lamer it sounded to me. By the time I finished, I was sweating.
“Another very good response,” Mr. R nodded and I felt like I’d just won an award or something. I don’t know why this — talking about something that pissed us off — had made me so nervous when thinking about the hoax presentation was no big deal.
“And I know if I cont
inued around the room, I’d get many more solid, well-thought-out answers. But I know all of you are wondering where this is all going, or if it’s just Retzlaff having a meltdown.” Some kids laughed at this.
“I want to go back to some of the things we heard about today. The coward, he … turtles, was that what you called it, T-Ho?”
T-Ho nodded.
“And Rebel takes exception with someone using their position to take advantage of others … and Alamo brought up the case of someone lying and causing pain to someone else.”
Alamo. Yes! Except I didn’t say my dad had lied. But I didn’t bother to correct Mr. R. It wasn’t that important. What was important was that I was mentioned in the same breath as T-Ho and Rebel. Awright!
“It’s interesting that my biggest grievance — the thing that has most angered me in my life — has many of those same elements built into it. A cowardly group of people who have throughout history used their position to take advantage and gain power over others; and yes, they often lied and still do to further their cause. And,” Mr R looked over at Patti, “just as was the case in Miss Bailer’s example, countless thousands — entire generations of people virtually throughout the civilized world — have suffered because of these people’s endless quest to dominate and to take more and more control of the entire globe.”
Mr. R went over to his computer and started punching keys.
What came up on the screen was one word — Judaism.
“The Jews. One of the world’s most important groups of people, right? Some would have you believe that they are a religious group. But, in fact, they’re much more.” Mr. R tapped a key. A picture appeared on the screen. Buildings, big buildings. A caption below the picture read Wall Street. “Throughout history, this is a people who have controlled much of the world’s finances, making the Jews a powerful force on the globe — some would say more powerful than either their numbers or the nature of their culture deserve.”
He tapped again. “And throughout history, the Jew has played one significant card over and over. The we-are-the-oppressed card; the we-are-the-victim card. The people who put Jesus Christ to death, and they are the oppressed. A convenient reconstruction of history. And effective. If I can convince all of you that I have historically been dealt with unfairly, even cruelly, then there is a very real chance that decent people, wanting to do the right thing, will turn a blind eye to what I am all about. And if what I’m about is gaining global domination by controlling the finances of the world, well perhaps even that will be allowed to happen. And if, along the way, someone steps forward and says very forcefully, ‘No! I won’t let you play that card, not any more, not here and not now,’ then that person is branded intolerant, a racist, a bigot … someone who hates, and hating is always wrong. But sometimes there are people, even nations, that will make a stand even though they face becoming the bad guys of world public opinion. They make that very unpopular stand because they believe it is the right thing to do. And they have the courage to do it.
“So we have a leader and his people, a country in this case, who had faced the unfairness of the Treaty of Versailles — you all remember that? They were bearing a justifiable ill-will toward much of the world — we agreed on that, right? So, you have this country feeling, as T-Ho felt in this very classroom, that it was time to fight back. That same leader and his people were also willing to make an unpopular stand — to face the financial oppressors and say, ‘We won’t allow your attempt to dominate the world to continue. We will oppose. We will stand up to you. And we will fight you.’ That is what we have taking place in Germany in the years leading up to and during the Second World War. And when Germany said, ‘We will not let you play the “we-are-the-victim” card,’ the oppressors had another idea, a very good one as it turns out. They created the incredible fabrication known as the Holocaust.”
As he was talking, Mr. R had been tapping keys and pictures had been flashing on and off the screen very quickly, some too quickly to recognize, I thought I saw a bank head office building and the desert — maybe Israel? I wasn’t sure — and a couple of pictures of old Jewish men in those traditional clothes they wear. But the last picture was the one I would remember, even though I’d seen it before. It was the picture of all the naked bodies in the ditch. But this time, the picture zoomed in … once, twice, three times … until there was just one body. He left that picture on the screen and turned to face us.
“Jews died in the war, make no mistake about that. So did Catholics and Protestants, Germans, British, Americans, and Canadians. The war was a terrible thing. And if there was a holocaust that would have been a terrible thing too. And there is evidence that it did happen … just as there is evidence that it did not. I ask only that you think about this question very carefully: Did the Holocaust happen? Do not let yourself be caught up in the agenda of a people who seeks compassion and pity and, when it is offered, conspire to use that outpouring of genuine human emotion by well-meaning people to further their goal of world domination.”
Mr. R leaned toward us. “Think. Think and question and don’t merely accept the popular version of history. But be forewarned. When you do that — when you have the courage and the integrity to oppose what is a popular, accepted position in our society, you will be criticized … even ostracized. Who knows what that means?”
Ben had his hand up, but Mr. Retzlaff ignored him. “T-Ho, you remember what happened when you were up here at the front of the room and the rest of the class was piling on you pretty hard because of your fight with Marcia.”
“I remember,” T-Ho said and looked back at us. I thought he’d be laughing or at least smiling, but he looked pretty serious.
“You were ostracized, cast out of the group … voted off the island (a few snickers). Not because you weren’t good at some series of challenges that were put to you as part of a contest, but because you had done the unpopular thing. You had dared to take on a well-liked member of the class, one that happened to have a bunch of friends on her side.”
Mr. R paced, much slower than usual, back and forth across the front of the classroom — always facing us as he walked, moving his eyes up and down the rows like he was looking at each one in turn.
“That is what can happen to you when you don’t just accept what is said and written in the history books; when you question, when you challenge, and when you have the courage — and believe me, it requires courage — to say, ‘I will decide for myself.’
“And when that happens … when the criticism and the ostracism and the name calling and all the rest of it starts …” The screen went blank behind Mr. R and the room was as dark as it had been at the start of the class. “When that happens, you have the one thing that makes me … truly angry.”
I’m not sure how much time passed as we sat there in the silent darkness, but I’d guess it was a minute. Except it was one of those deals when one minute feels like five.
The class ended and as we walked out of the room, Mr. Retzlaff still hadn’t moved. Except he nodded his head just a little bit to let us know we could go.
We were out in the hall and walking to our next class and nobody was saying anything. We rounded the corner leading to the Common and saw kids crying and sitting at tables making cards and a poster with a picture of Mr. Saarkahn on it.
I’d totally forgotten that one of our teachers had died.
December
One
When I finally got rid of my virginity it wasn’t at all like getting it “smashed like a bug.” And it wasn’t with Patti. Or with Jen, The Six sex goddess.
See, another thing my brother told me is that a guy becomes a lot more popular with his ex once he has a new girlfriend. So maybe that’s why Diana McNair phoned me on a Thursday and asked me to a party the next night at her friend’s house.
And I went. I guess that decision falls into the “what was I thinking?” category.
I mean, I still thought Diana was mega-hot, no doubt about that. Sort of a cross be
tween Avril Lavigne and Lindsay Lohan. Not a bad cross. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But Diana was hot. She had like great hair — really dark and really curly. She was a little shorter than me, had an amazing smile that she didn’t use nearly often enough, and there wasn’t a whole lot wrong with her body. Actually, nothing was wrong with it.
I have to admit I still thought about her sometimes, even though I really liked Patti. So the obvious question was why didn’t I take Patti to the party. It’s a question I’ve asked myself a couple of thousand times. Never have come up with an answer though.
I did ask myself why Diana had suddenly changed and didn’t hate me anymore, but to be honest I didn’t spend a lot of time on the subject. I guess I was just glad she’d phoned me.
Anyway, I went to the party.
Besides, it’s not like Patti was my girlfriend or anything. We’d just gone out a few times. That’s what I was saying to myself as I walked up the front steps of Diana’s friend’s house. I thought the friend’s name was Elaine but I wasn’t sure. I’d seen the house before but I’d never been inside.
Even in the light of the street lamp and the porch light, it was pretty easy to see this girl’s family had money. Two-car garage, a pretty new BMW in the driveway, nice front yard with a couple of giant trees and a very cool winding sidewalk like you’d see leading up to a mansion. The place wasn’t a mansion but it was quite a bit better than the Crockett residence.
“Alamo!” Diana answered the door and greeted me like I was the most important guest who would be attending that night. She kissed me on the cheek, took my jacket, and led me inside and straight to the drinks table.
I said hi to a few people on the way there and saw Hennie and Big Nose Kate sitting on the far side of the biggest living room I’d ever been in. The furniture looked like stuff BMW people would have and I glanced around, wondering if Elaine’s parents would allow a party with booze in their house without being somewhere in the background to make sure nobody was puking on the hardwood.
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