Nobody's Family is Going to Change

by Louise Fitzhugh

  “Close the door and register over here,” said a voice out of the delirium.

  Emma saw a girl sitting at a card table. In front of her was an open ledger.

  Goldin closed the door. They went over to the table. The noise in the room was unbelievable.

  “Put your cookies in there and sign your names here,” said the girl. She smiled. She spoke as though she had done this millions of times.

  “New members?” she asked.

  The four of them nodded dumbly.

  “If you know your brigade name, put it down next to your name. If you don’t know it, tell me where you live and I’ll tell you which one you’re in.”

  Emma signed her name and wrote Anne Frank Brigade after it. The others were being told one after the other that they too were in the Anne Frank Brigade.

  Emma gestured with the cookies.

  “Put them in these baskets,” the girl said, and gestured toward a row of huge baskets, each with the name of a school on it.

  “What does that mean?” asked Emma.

  “We deliver these to the lunchrooms of various schools. The kids will get them for lunch tomorrow.”

  Emma nodded. So far so good. Nothing wrong with feeding people.

  “Now what?” she asked. I hope to God they don’t give you a physical, she thought. She had visions of all the Gauloise-smoking, sickly-looking men in the French Underground. God knows, they didn’t have to be healthy. “Are there any requirements for joining this?” she asked. Better know them now.

  “Children come first,” said the girl simply. “The only requirement is that you believe this with all your heart. This is the essence of the movement.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Saunders. She pushed herself forward a bit, as though she felt Emma was taking over.

  “We believe that if every decision made on this earth were first put to the test of one question, ‘Is this good for children?’ and the decision makers were forced to make decisions that would be good for children, there would only be good decisions made.”

  “Oh,” said Saunders.

  “I’ll have to think about that,” said Emma. I never thought of that, she said to herself. It’ll take weeks for me to think that out, with all its ramifications. She felt profoundly irritated that these people had thought of something she hadn’t. Not that it seemed like a bad idea—still, one had to be sure, and one could only be sure by thinking everything out carefully.

  “Yes,” said Saunders hurriedly, “we’ll have to examine that.” She wasn’t letting Emma get ahead of her.

  Goldin nodded, cowlike, and Ketchum suddenly, for some strange reason, looked radiant.

  “See those signs?” asked the girl.

  They all nodded. Signs were bobbing around just like the ones at conventions.

  “One of them says Anne Frank Brigade. Go find that one and then stay with those people.”

  Emma began to wade her way through the crowd. There were plenty of blacks, that’s for sure. A dark boy suddenly gave her the power salute.

  She raised her arm and gave it back, but tentatively, because she hadn’t been ready. She turned just in time to see Saunders nervously doing the same thing, Goldin too, and Ketchum, looking bug-eyed. Emma began to laugh to herself. Scared, old honky scared. She looked around the whole room. There were a lot of blacks and it made her feel good. The majority seemed to be white, but there were enough black faces to make her feel they wouldn’t be ignored.

  There seemed to be only six people standing under the sign saying Anne Frank Brigade.

  “Hello,” said Emma.

  “Hello.” A bespectacled boy held the sign. He looked at her with dull eyes.

  “We were told to come here and stand,” said Emma.

  “Do you live in this section?” asked an eager-looking girl. She had long brown hair and looked friendly.

  “Yes,” said Saunders. She pushed herself ahead as though she’d had about enough of Emma’s leadership. “We all heard Harrison Carter on television and we’ve joined up.” She looked proud and stalwart.

  “Terrific! My name’s Cathy. This is Jim.” She pointed to the sign holder, who smiled. “This is Alice, Nancy, Lisa, and Pippy. We’re glad you’re here. We’re the smallest group in the whole thing. I don’t know why. It seems like there are thousands of kids on East End. I don’t know what’s the matter with them. Maybe they didn’t see the show, or maybe nobody has contacted them.”

  “Has anyone gone around the apartment houses?” asked Saunders. Goldin’s eyes gleamed with gladness that her leader had finally come up with something intelligent.

  “We have to be careful. You see, if it gets out that there is such a thing as the Children’s Army, adults wouldn’t go for the whole idea. In fact, we think they’d hate it. They would put a stop to it immediately. So we can’t just approach everyone, somebody might be a squealer.”

  Emma nodded. Imagine anyone approaching Willie. He’d dance right in and tell his mother, who would tell his father, who would call the police.

  “Order,” said a voice. Emma looked up and saw that a pile of crates had been made into a podium. Harrison Carter was sitting on the top crate banging two pieces of wood together. I wonder where you buy gavels, thought Emma. It would be terrific to get a gavel.

  “We don’t have much time, as you know, because we cannot all disappear for a long time without people noticing. The first thing today is a minute of silence in memory of two innocent victims, Clifford Glover and Claude Reese, shot down in the streets by policemen when they were only ten and fourteen.”

  They all bowed their heads. There was silence in that there was no talking—a little rustling, but no talking. During the minute, Emma kept her eyes closed. She bit her lip in mounting excitement. They’re really doing it! Maybe we can really do something! He’s hitting right where he should, right at the stupidity of adults, right at the fact that children have no rights at all, and not only that, can lose their lives because of stupid adults!

  “We will never forget,” said Harrison Carter. They all looked up.

  “Today,” said Harrison, “we are sending out three committees to talk to parents. One will discuss Helen Mason, six times admitted to six different hospitals for fractures of the arms, broken legs, bruises of the abdomen, and a smashed hand. Helen Mason is a battered child. Her parents have been getting away with this. She is six years old. A committee will approach the parents this week to inform them that the police will be notified if Helen has one more bruise. There will be ten in this committee. It will be larger than most committees because of the known violence of the father. If the parents do not respond in a satisfactory way, the committee will go to the police immediately. They will contact Martin Feininger, the father of one of our members, and a fine lawyer, who has prosecuted many parents of battered children. This violence will be stopped.

  “The next committee will go to the home of Charles Tyson. Charles Tyson is being driven crazy by his mother. His father is dead. His mother will not let him out of the house except to go to school and come back. He has no freedom. He is thirteen years old and he is not even allowed to close the door to his room. The committee will inform Mrs. Tyson that an appointment has been made for her to see a psychiatrist about this situation. If she does not agree to go voluntarily, three committee members will escort her personally to the doctor’s office. If she says she will call the police, the committee will say go ahead. If she does call the police, the committee will say they are friends of Charles Tyson’s and they will never, under any circumstances, divulge the fact of the existence of the Children’s Army. At all times, whenever confronted, each member of this Army must and will say that he or she is only acting out of personal feeling and friendship for the child involved.

  “The third committee will go to the house of Lois Babson. Lois is the two-year-old sister of one of our army. The parents of this two-year-old have bought a device which rings a terrible clanging bell every time the child wets the bed. He
r sister feels and this committee concurs that this is no way to toilet-train somebody, that with sympathy and patience Lois will learn to be toilet-trained, and that this barbaric arrangement should stop immediately. The committee will approach Mr. and Mrs. Babson, tell them that they are confiscating the instrument, and why. They will inform the Babsons that they will take said instrument back to the store, get a refund, and return the money to the Babsons.

  “Next Friday we will send out three new committees. Each brigade must get complaints from its members and submit them. All complaints are processed as fast as possible. Anyone registering a complaint should understand that the committee acting on the complaint will use all restraint, so that the parents of the complainer do not turn against him or her. The committee members are never rude, never violent, always logical, always speak quietly, and always have a back-up adult who can be brought in at the last moment to embarrass the parents into listening. It will always appear that the committee is just a group of personal friends acting on the behalf of the complainer. We will have Report now on the three committees that went out last week.” He paused dramatically. “J. Colson reporting on Committee 1.”

  J. Colson was a large, blond girl. Her hair kept getting in her eyes as she read the short report.

  “Committee 1 went to the home of Jack Kelly, whose complaint was brought to us by his younger brother, Tom Kelly, a member. Complaint was as follows: that Jack Kelly, blind since an accident in the home when he was eight, now sixteen years old, was being kept home as a servant by his father, a drunkard. Jack Kelly is made to cook all the meals, do all the cleaning, and is not allowed to go to school. Jack Kelly wants to go to school. The committee was large because of the drunkenness of the father. They took with them an official of the Lighthouse for the blind, the mother of one of our members. Report of the committee is that Jack Kelly is now in a school for the blind, learning Braille, and he plans to attend college.

  “Mr. Kelly has been reported to the police four times for drunkenness. He does not know who is reporting him, but he has had to change his habits somewhat. He will never be a good father, in the opinion of this committee, but he is nervous now to think that his sons have friends who can bring people into the house to embarrass him. He was mortified by the adult who went with us. He said he had always wanted Jack to go to school, an out-and-out lie, and that he certainly would comply. As we all know, none of this is important. What is important is that Jack Kelly is no longer a slave.”

  A great roar of applause went up. “Reporting on Committee 2 is Harvey Allen,” said Harrison Carter when the applause had been silenced by his clacking the two pieces of wood together.

  Harvey Allen was a fat, boneless sort of fellow wearing a Norwegian sweater.

  “Committee 2 went to the home of Mary Ann Boniface, one of our members. Mary Ann has been subjected to the advances of an exchange student from Italy who is living in the home for a year, while Mary Ann’s brother lives in Italy. Mary Ann is fifteen. She has told her parents that the boy has tried to rape her four times and that when she comes home from school she has to fight him off. The father, who likes to have the boy around, will not listen, and the mother, who likes the boy to help with the chores, will not listen. The committee informed the Bonifaces that they would contact the Institute of Foreign Exchange, which arranged for the boy’s visa, unless the Bonifaces agreed voluntarily to send the boy back to Italy. Mr. Boniface said that his daughter was lying. It was the opinion of this committee, having known and worked with Mary Ann Boniface, that she was not a liar. We told the Bonifaces the facts, brought the Italian student into it, and talked to him until he finally admitted that he thought all American girls were that way, from American movies, and that he thought she would think he wasn’t a man if he didn’t do this. He finally came to understand that this kind of behavior not only was not required of him but was definitely not wanted by Mary Ann and was, in fact, making her hate him. Mary Ann then agreed that if he changed and stopped all that nonsense, he could stay on. The Bonifaces were told that they should know that among her friends Mary Ann has never been known to lie.”

  Another roar of applause went up. Emma was stunned by it all. These people acted as if they had been doing this for a hundred years, and doing it well.

  “How long has this Army been in existence?” she whispered to Cathy.

  “Five years. It started when Harrison Carter was eleven. He’s sixteen now.”

  “Reporting for Committee 3 is Sissy Hendriks.”

  Sissy Hendriks was small and ratty-looking, with a speech impediment.

  “Committee 3 had bad luck. We went to the home of Jimmy Madden, one of our members, whose father is a down-and-out punch-drunk prize fighter by the name of Mad Dog Madden. Mr. Madden was not in the least interested in what we had to say and simply tried to beat up all twelve of us. He has beaten up Jimmy for years, so that Jimmy stutters badly and his left arm doesn’t work very well, because years ago Mr. Madden broke it. It was never set properly, and healed crooked.

  “Jimmy is fifteen. Next year he can get a job and move away. He wants to continue with his schooling, but living with Mad Dog and being afraid is making him unable to concentrate on his schoolwork. Arrangements have been made to have Jimmy live in the home of another of our members, Jake Matthews. Mrs. Matthews runs a dry-goods store, she likes kids, and she can use Jimmy’s help in the store after school. The twelve committee members were treated for bruises and cuts at Saint Vincent’s Hospital, after Mr. Madden tried to throw all of us down the steps. Mr. Madden’s only response to Jimmy’s moving out was: ‘Good riddance.’ I say good riddance to Mr. Madden and to all parents like him!”

  Sissy Hendriks raised her hand in the power salute and brought down the house. The noise was deafening. Harrison Carter had to beat his sticks together for several minutes to get everyone quiet.

  “Time is up. Each brigade will gather complaints and bring them up here. Until next week then. Welcome to our new members. Children First!” Harrison also gave the salute, and there was more applause as he jumped down.

  “I’m handing in the ones we have. Do any of you new members have any complaints?”

  Ketchum looked as if she’d swallowed a toad. “I’ll have to think about this,” said Saunders, borrowing Emma’s line and looking vastly important. Goldin nodded as though Saunders spoke for her too.

  “I …” Emma began.

  “Yes?” asked Cathy.

  “Is any kind of complaint valid?” asked Emma.

  “Yes. I mean, if you want the wallpaper in your room changed, or something, the committee takes a dim view of that. In general, the children who qualify are being hurt, either now or in the future, by something the parents are doing.”

  Emma looked uncertain.

  “Want to think about it?” asked Cathy.

  Emma nodded gratefully.

  “Some of our members never hand in complaints. You know, you don’t have to. It’s just that most people want to see justice done some place. I mean, that’s usually what’s brought them here, but I’ve never handed in a complaint, for instance—that’s what I mean, you don’t have to.” Cathy smiled again.

  “I’ll take these two complaints up,” she said, and went toward the pile of crates.

  “Well,” said Saunders to the bespectacled boy, who always looked sad. “What happens now?”

  “We go home,” he said quietly.

  He looks miserable, thought Emma. I wonder if he handed in a complaint. His parents were ruining his personality, if nothing else.

  Cathy came back. “There’re a couple of things I have to tell you new members. One: never, ever tell anyone about the Children’s Army. Two: if someone calls you on the phone and says the one word ‘Emergency,’ hang up and come to this warehouse immediately, no questions asked. And it doesn’t matter if you’re in the middle of a family dinner either. Three: never discuss the Army over the telephone or any place you could be overheard. Parents listen all the time. Fou
r: report injustice to a child whenever you see it, but do not act independently. We’ve found that we have strength in numbers. No one member is strong enough by himself or herself to accomplish anything. You will only get surrounded and beaten down by adults, and then you’ll find yourself confessing. None of us want that, because that could blow the whole thing sky-high.”

  “Does the Children’s Army use violence at any time, in any way?” Emma decided to find out a few things she wanted to know, instead of being told things like a dummy.

  “Never. Not in any way. Numbers are what we rely on, and the embarrassment of parents when caught by children. It almost always works. When it doesn’t, we rely on getting sympathetic adults into the picture, which will always embarrass the parents. These adults never know of the existence of the Army. They think each case is an individual thing and that the committee members involved are friends, personal friends of the victim. That way they never find out about us.”

  “Are there any dues?” Ketchum managed to say something. She looked as though she immediately regretted it.

  “Yes. One quarter a week from each person. That’s a dollar a month. People who don’t have it don’t pay it. People who have more give more. The money is taken in a steel box to a savings bank midtown. The account is listed in the name of the Child of the Month Club. The three officers elected each year can deposit and withdraw; no one else.”

  “Suppose one of them is a crook?” asked Emma.

  “I doubt that he would be unanimously elected, which is what has to happen for someone to become an officer. There cannot be one dissenting vote. We vote for weeks each year.” Cathy smiled again. She smiled a lot. “So far, it hasn’t happened.

  “I’ll see you guys next week if you come back. If you don’t come back, by the way, you still mustn’t talk. The Army doesn’t use violence, but it does use what we call harassments.” She laughed.

  “What are they?” asked Emma.