Growing Up in Vegas During the 80s and 90s

Leaving Las Vegas – How Friends Disappear

2011-01-27T11:35:00.000-08:00

Las Vegas is a transient town. People come to boom, and leave when they bust. Many live in the valley for a few years and then move on. For Tommy, this meant that he would make friends at school or in the neighborhood only to lose them. In the 1980s and 1990s, before the availability of cheap communication (i.e. Internet and cell phones), moving meant losing all contact with most of the “friends.” A few friends actually wrote letters and Tommy was able to maintain a connection with them until the advent of MySpace and Face book allowed more and easier access. Virtually everyone else who moved on was lost.

Thomas may occasionally look online for names from his distant memory, but some names are very common and he has no idea where in the world the former friends now reside. Apparently, Thomas is more sentimental than his former friends are. He wants to be reacquainted. However, none of the former friends have attempted to contact Thomas, even though he is easily findable as a Las Vegas attorney, who never moved away.

Thomas wonders if some may have looked him up but are too timid to contact him. If so, that is a shame. Life is too short to live in fear. More likely, however, they just never considered friendship that important and are apathetic. Thomas realizes that it serves no purpose to waste time on people with this attitude.

Killer Bums will Eat You, You’ll be Buried Alive, and the Mountain will Crumble

2010-06-04T21:28:00.000-07:00

Thomas remembers things parents say out of unfounded fears to discourage their kids from wholesome behavior.

When Tommy was ten, he, his brothers, and a couple of neighborhood brats thought that it would be an adventure to explore the tunnels that emptied water from gutters into washes. They gathered flashlights and were going to set out on their expedition, but one of the kids could not go. His parent learned about what they were intending to do and made up a story about how homeless people live in the tunnels, along with bats, and other animals and it would be too dangerous. Of course, this was a huge lie. Tommy and his group spent several hours in the five foot tall tunnels and never came across a single one of those things, instead they found discarded items that had washed down from the side of roads. That kid missed out that day, but later was talked into going another day without telling his parents first. Incidentally, that kid became very troubled in middle school and ended up in juvenile hall for setting his home on fire.

When Tommy was twelve, he and his friend Willy designed a hideout which consisted of digging a hole in Tommy’s yard, covering it with strong planks of wood, and hiding the planks under soil. A trap door would allow them entry. They figured that the hideout would be approximately the size of a room. Tommy had been intrigued by the idea from reading The Three Investigators, a mystery series about three teenage boys who solve crimes and have a crime lab hidden under piles of junk in a junkyard. Anyway, Tommy and Willy began to dig.

Over the course of several days, they dug a sizable hole but had never anticipated what to do with all of the removed dirt. Tommy’s dad started to get annoyed about their tearing up the yard. For some reason, Tommy didn’t mind doing all that work but did not want to clean the chicken coop or pick up cigarette butts—a mystery to Tommy’s father Nolan. But, it was not Tommy’s dad that put an end to the dirty fun.

Every evening Willy would return home by bicycle and he would be covered in soil or dust. When Willy’s father learned about the hole, he became concerned and started telling Willy about how the ground would cave in on the boys and Willy would be buried alive. Total nonsense, but it was enough to cause Willy to stop assisting. Tommy continued digging by himself for several days but finally had to concede that he did not know what to do with the removed dirt and finally was ordered to fill in the hole by Nolan. It was no longer any fun without his friend. Bitterly, Tommy buried a time capsule in the hole as he filled it in.

A few years later, when Tom was 15, he and a friend from around the corner wanted to climb Frenchman Mountain (often wrongly referred to as “Sunrise Mountain”). Tom was a veteran climber by this time, having climbed to the top many times, but his friend Teve had not climbed it and Teve’s father was adamant against the idea. “That mountain is full of faults. It will crumble on you. Too dangerous.” Teve eventually ignored his ignorant father and climbed the mountain, and had a blast without a single injury.

In a city where children have very little to do, parental denial of wholesome fun (using silly safety arguments) stifles and forces children to have to disobey and lie. Thomas is glad that he was denied very little of the adventure of being a kid.

Tom’s School Reading and Reading for Enjoyment

2010-02-13T23:29:00.000-08:00

Throughout high school, Tom was assigned books to read. Often he would have preferred to read an assigned book within a few days; however the teachers parceled out pages and then quizzed on those pages. Completing the book ahead of schedule would have meant poor performance on the frequent quizzes, which often asked questions like what was a character wearing or eating (as if that had much relevance to the overall story).

Most of the assigned reading was melancholy. The themes usually centered on death and misery instead of life and joy. Tom recalls reading the following books in high school:

Ethan Frome (about attempted collaborative suicide);
A Separate Peace (about high school friends and one becoming jealous to the point of trying to kill his friend);
The Great Gatsby (about a rich man who pines for a shallow woman which ends up causing him to be murdered);
Jane Eyre (about an unattractive British woman who is to marry her older boss until she learns he is already married to a nut);
The Wide Sargasso Sea (about the life of the nut in Jane Eyre before she marries the rich British dude);
To Kill a Mockingbird (about racism which kills an innocent black man);
The Red Badge of Courage (about death and dying during the Civil War)
The Good Earth (about a newer Chinese generation taking over and placing the preceding generation in a corner with opium).

Tom needed other books to read in order to keep him reading. The school books alone would have destroyed all desire to read in the teenager. So, Tom sought out adventure stories including books by Edgar Rice Burroughs (Tarzan, John Carter of Mars, et al), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (The Lost World, Sherlock Holmes), Jack London (White Fang, Call of the Wild, Sea Wolf), and other early Twentieth Century novelists. These books also dealt with themes like death, but in a way that was positive, life reaffirming, and adventurous. Like many other teenagers, he also enjoyed comic books. These books gave Tom a desire to discover, learn, travel, and be something, whereas the assigned school books caused him to wonder what the purpose of life was and whether life is worth living when there can be so much tragedy and horror.

As an adult, Thomas still does not know why the school district assigned the reading it did when thousands of other books with more engaging themes could have been on the reading list. He figures that the books would not survive as literature if not foisted upon young minds whose world views would thereafter be affected. He wonders if the reason so few adults read books after graduation has anything to do with the reading that had been required.

Teen-aged years were traumatic enough. After all, teenagers deal with wanting to be free while restricted by parents, school, and other authority. Teenagers deal with new emotions that are stronger than at any other time in life. Why then should the school force such sad literature upon teenagers already dealing with turbulent, troubling times?

Tom and the African-American Mistake

2010-02-10T22:54:00.000-08:00

Thomas had just reconnected on MySpace with a black student he knew from high school, Jason. Jason and Tom were never friends, but they knew each other and had mutual friends for awhile. Tom never understood why they had not become pals in school. After all, they shared many of the same classes together and had known each other since Mrs. Blower’s fifth grade class. Throughout high school, Tom regarded Jason as an athlete and a scholar.

Jason was just finishing his PhD in Chemistry, and Tom was a new attorney in Las Vegas, when Tom found Jason online and instant-messaged him. Tom occasionally met students from high school, which often presented profound revelations. Tom would soon have another huge revelation with Jason.

The two chatted over a few months, talking about other students they knew. Tom was impressed that Jason had gone so far in school, and Jason was likewise impressed that Tom had finished law school and passed the Nevada bar exam.

All of a sudden, Jason stated, “You know, I was very mad at you all through high school.”

“What? Why?” Tom’s mouth fell agape as he read the words on his computer monitor.

“Something you said in fifth grade.”

“Something I said in fifth grade? What are you talking about?”

Jason hesitated, and then typed, “We were walking home from school with some friends and you said you did not like black people and that they should have separate places to live.”

Tom, usually quick to respond in contentious situations, was shocked at this declaration, and froze. He reread it a few times. Tom never walked home from school with Jason or anyone else. He rode bicycles home with his brothers and he lived in the opposite direction from school from Jason.

“I never said anything like that. I know I made ridiculous comments on occasion in school, but I could not have said something that outrageous. Even if I did harbor such beliefs, which I never have, I certainly would not have spoken them in front of someone that would have been offended by them. Could you be thinking of someone else?”

Jason did not reply for a moment. He was remembering. “Yes, it was someone else—I guess it was someone who looked like you.”

Tom then thought. After fifth grade, he and Jason had gone to two different schools before going to high school together. It was possible that Jason thought the Tom he saw in high school was the same kid that had made such a despicable remark three to four years before. They both grew up a bit between fifth grade and high school, and perhaps there were a few kids that resembled Tom.

“You mean that, for all of these years, since ninth grade, you have disliked me based on mistaken identity?” Thomas wrote.

“I think so. Come to think of it, I think I know who I mistook you for.”

“My gosh, I’m glad this got straightened out now. Better late than never. It is too bad I never approached you in high school and got to know you better. We could have cleared the air of this mistake long ago.”

Jason then said, “Yes, maybe I should have talked to you about it sooner too, but I thought you were the same guy and didn’t want to start anything.”

Thomas later thought about this revelation. Sometimes it is not wise to let something fester. Certainly, mistakes can be made and horrible judgments can result that could prevent two people from being fast friends. Thomas made the mistake of not being more sociable in high school and engaging students that seemed aloof around him. Jason made the mistake of not confronting someone that he believed insulted him to his face.

Since that conversation, Thomas and Jason have maintained sporadic but friendly contact. They live in separate States, but Thomas is very happy that yet another student from his high school days is doing well in life. This story confirmed one of the main ideas attorneys must bear in mind when examining eyewitnesses, “Eyewitness testimony is unreliable. Memory is fallible.”

However, too many innocent people were, and are, convicted on little more than such testimony. This story from Thomas’s childhood will someday work its way into a closing argument to help save someone from wrongful conviction.

Tommy Learns to Read

2010-02-07T23:20:00.000-08:00

In 1986, Tommy's third grade teacher believed that Tommy might have an eye problem and told his parents to have his vision checked. Tommy was not doing well in the reading portion of the class. He knew the alphabet, but did not sound out words on the page. He seemed to not even notice the words. However, they soon learned that Tommy had perfect vision.

Tommy was in a cloud of confusion at school. He was distracted by the other students in class and their strange behaviors. Other kids talked about He-man cartoons, The Transformers, and brought lunch boxes depicting video game figures and containing candy, cookies, and coke products. He remembers girls were into Cabbage Patch Dolls and boys liked the Garbage Pail Kid cards. Tommy’s parents did not have a television or video game system, and did not let him eat candy or drink soda. They also thought the Garbage Pail Kid cards were too grotesque. So, Tommy sat through the day observing all the odd behavior, not realizing that a kind and patient teacher was trying to impart knowledge that would serve him well.

It was decided that Tommy would have to spend part of the day in a Reading Improvement Program (RIP), where he would be placed in a special classroom, a portable, and sit alone with a book and a tape-recorder which would read the book to him. And so, he spent his days at a carrel desk designed to keep him focused. He still remembers the first book he read with the program. It was John Henry the Steel Driving Man. It was far more entertaining than his regular classroom activities. He had heard the Johnny Cash version that his father sometimes played, but reading it, it made a lot more sense than the song to his young mind.

The book had a great impact on Tommy in several ways. He realized that he could read and what reading would mean to him from then on. The story was about a man who would not quit, despite great odds against him and despite many distractions—even if it killed him. After third-grade and his new found skill, Tommy became a voracious reader. In fourth grade he vastly out-read all the other students in the class combined, and won a top reader award. He remembers that, in fourth, fifth and sixth grades he was especially fond of mystery stories, including The Three Investigators, The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and Encyclopedia Brown. In fifth grade Tommy started writing his own mystery stories and the teacher often had him read the stories in front of the class.

Reading that first book may well have laid the ground work for who Thomas would later become. Although he suffered a slight stigma in third grade for being in a RIP class (for dumb kids) and was teased for it, the lesson of John Henry the Steel Driving Man helped him overcome this and many more obstacles in life. When the kids made fun of him in third grade, he inwardly smiled because he was having a much more fun time in RIP than they were having in class.

Thomas and William, How Friends Help Each Other

2010-02-07T15:00:00.000-08:00

Thomas asked his friend Nasrani what he thought about the stories of Thomas’ childhood.

“Well, I’d prefer to see more positive, optimistic, uplifting stories,” Nasrani said, “After all, I am an optimist.”

“I think there are a few of those stories, even though most of the experiences in public school were emotionally trying. Still, some of the readers have told me they thought the stories were uplifting because they show that a kid can become someone despite all the setbacks. They can become successful even though they frequently got into fights with other kids and the school bureaucracy. For instance, I became a lawyer even though a teacher wanted to hold me back in school. I assist people accused of horrible crimes even though I was often bullied by the criminally minded,” Thomas replied. Thomas then thought, perhaps his friend Nasrani and he often did not see eye to eye because Thomas was more pragmatic than optimistic.

After the conversation, Thomas sat and thought. This will be a challenge. Perhaps some readers would enjoy lighter stories. If Nasrani wanted lighter reading, maybe he represented many others who would also appreciate such stories. The problem, he thought, was whether he could present a conflict that the reader would find engaging. Conflict, after all, presents the adventure in life and the advancement towards wisdom. Most people would throw down a novel if the characters did not have to face hardship of some stripe. Who wants to read a story with no plot? Thomas turned to his childhood diaries for such rare experiences.

As he read, he realized that he had gained much of his knowledge and ultimate wisdom from deep and serious study in school and reading, and not always from conflicts with others. He spent hours after school learning the lessons that were superficially expressed by the teacher in the classroom. The study after school was tedious and sometimes frustrating, but Thomas wanted to be at the top of his class because it would increase his options upon graduation. He did not know what he wanted to do after high school; he just knew he wanted to become successful.

The conflict Tom faced with his studies, of course, was that he battled with the concept of opportunity cost. “If I spend three hours studying math tonight, that is three hours I do not get to spend making friends and having fun running around. But, if I do the studying, someday I may have a successful career, make decent money, and then have time to really enjoy life.” Tom decided he would spend the time to invest in his future and not enjoy the moment.

His few friends would often chide Tom for being stingy with his money too. Tom did not go to see movies. He did not buy video game consoles and play hours of expensive video games. He did not eat out at fast food much. He did not date.

One of his friends, William, often told him he had to “Live in the moment more. You could be hit by a bus tomorrow and not have really lived.”

“If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I’ll be gone, so what does it matter whether I spend my money on ‘fun’ today or sit back and read boring books instead and invest that money in something that will make me money for the future? If I don’t have a future because of the bus accident, someone else can enjoy my savings—maybe you.”

After high school, Will and Tom had a very different outlook on spending. Will loved to drive a new car every few years, purchase new furniture and clothes, and spend his money at expensive restaurants or on the latest in computer technology. He had several girlfriends, some just for fun, some more serious.

Tom, on the other hand, lived with his parents and saved his money. With his savings, he purchased fixer-upper properties in a low-income neighborhood and rented them out to poor people. He did not have girlfriends because he did not want the drama and he had high standards which few in Las Vegas could meet. He wanted someone that took life goals seriously.

He also did not like the one-night stands that some of his buddies bragged about. He knew that those one-night stands came at a cost, such as fear of disease or pregnancy. “Who has time to worry about that?” Thomas asked. His friends would look at him askance when he said things like, “A couple of minutes of pleasure can bring a lifetime of pain.” They thought that Thomas was far too ascetic to be happy. After all, Thomas wore second-hand clothes, did not eat meat, did not drink alcohol or do drugs, and did not date. Tom thought his friends were far too materialistic and hedonistic to find ultimate happiness.

In college, as a Real Estate Finance/Business major, Thomas was in the very top of his class. Las Vegas, in the late 1990s was booming. Real estate professionals were making fistfuls of money and donated heavily to the real estate program at UNLV in the form of grade-based scholarships. Instead of working and spending his money as William was doing, Thomas went to college and spent his time studying to achieve perfect grades. As a result, Thomas won numerous academic based scholarships.

Because he lived with his parents and did not have to pay rent, Thomas had so much money from the scholarships left over after paying tuition, that he could use it for down payments on “FSBO” properties in a low-income neighborhood. Many others in college borrowed money from the government and spent it on drinking and gambling in Las Vegas casinos. It was not hard for Thomas to compete for grades in school when many of his fellow students studied so little and would take tests with hangovers.

Thomas graduated from UNLV and had savings from his rental income sufficient to finally have real fun. He felt that he could take a vacation and spend some money before figuring out what to do with the rest of his life. With the thousands of dollars he had in his bank account, Thomas planned trips across the United States and Europe and then spent a year traveling. In that time he lived for five months in Switzerland, which was his home base from which he traveled to other parts of Europe, including Austria, Italy, and France. He learned German and explored cultures and history. To Thomas, this educational pursuit was fun. All the while he was in Europe, his real estate in Vegas was still making him money (his parents managed while he was away), and he was learning German. He met many people that would help him socialize with diverse personalities in later life.

During his stay in Switzerland, Thomas also considered law school. He had been presented with the opportunity to go to the new and only law school in Nevada because of his high academic grades in college, and so he thought long and hard about whether he actually wanted to become a lawyer. One day he went to Rome and stood in the Roman Forum when a tour guide started talking about the God of Ch aos and Order (Saturn). The message was compelling.

According to the story, a statue of Saturn stood in the square, blindfolded and with bound arms, for most of the year. During that time, law and order was enforced throughout the empire. In December, however, the blindfold and shackles were removed from the arms and law and order would be ignored for two weeks. Roles would be reversed. During this chaotic time, crimes went unpunished and people could do what they wanted. It was a period of drunkenness, debauchery, gambling (even among the slaves), and idleness. Then, ceremoniously, the statue was blindfolded and shackled to symbolically restore law and order.

Thomas thought that overhearing this story from a tour guide was a sign suggesting that perhaps law school would be interesting. If law and order could build an empire, perhaps law would be good to know about. He made his decision, on the spot, that he would accept the invitation to William S. Boyd Law School in Las Vegas. Shortly after returning to Las Vegas from his world tours, Thomas started on his legal studies.

During the four years that Thomas went to college and the one year that he traveled, William, on the other hand, spent his time excelling at work, but living a somewhat wild and reckless life. He was promoted multiple times and made pretty good money in the resorts in Las Vegas. However, he spent his money and had some bad relationships with girls. One girl became pregnant and he thought he was the father, but he was not sure because she had cheated on him with a stranger she had met online. For nine months, he treated her as if she might be the mother of his child, supporting her financially, and preparing to marry her if she was. Thomas was present in the hospital just after the birth and saw William beaming with pride, comparing his features to the child’s. It turned out not to be William’s child.

During law school, Thomas knew he could no longer live with his parents. It was too noisy and distracting. So, Thomas moved into one of his tiny rental units that became vacant. It was a traveler trailer of about 320 square feet. One day William called. “I have some real financial problems. I’m in enormous debt and was wondering if I could stay with you for awhile and pay you a little rent.”

Thomas agreed to help his best friend. William slept on the couch in the tiny living room for the next several months while he figured out his financial situation. William joined the military part-time while working full time for a casino, which helped. William still liked to live high, but staying with his stingy friend in a tiny traveler trailer was an experience. Thomas would insist on quiet so that he could study law, but then would occasionally turn on German music, which was not pleasant to others’ ears.

William was beginning to see the wisdom in saving and living a little more for the future and not constantly for the moment. At the same time, Thomas began to recognize that, if you do not have fun in the moment with what you are doing, then what is the purpose of living? Life should be enjoyed, moment to moment, but not at the sacrifice of the future. Between the two friends, they came to a middle ground of understanding on what it meant to live a fulfilling life. Life is a balance of sacrifice for the future and fun for the moment.

Thomas enjoyed hiking and outdoors activities that did not cost a lot of money, and showed William how he could save money and still have fun. At the same time, William showed Thomas how he could occasionally splurge so that he could identify more with mainstream America. The two would go on road trips, which, to Thomas, did not seem cheap, but were well worth the trouble. He had enjoyed traveling alone before, but found a companion made the journeys interesting in their own right. Thomas became a little less thrifty and William became a little more.

In law school, Thomas no longer spent endless hours studying. Instead, he socialized for the first time in his life. His grades were still good, but he did not worry about being at the top of his class. He was now going to a school comprised of over-achievers and did not feel the need to compete with them. He took to heart the law school maxim of, “Those who get As in law school become professors, those who get Bs in law school become judges, and those who get Cs in law school become rich.” The more social law students were destined to become rainmakers, he believed, because they were less boring and bookish and more outgoing and engaging. Not only would the sociable attract more clients, but they would understand the behavior that would impress juries more too.

William went on to complete college himself and pursue his interests. He had always loved technology and went into the computer industry. He ended up having a very important job. William knew he could not work for a casino forever. Thomas, on the other hand, used the social skills he finally developed in law school and the business skills he learned from his Real Estate/Business major in college, to open his own Las Vegas law firm.

In part, because of their friendship, William and Thomas have both reached a level of success in their lives and are content, but still ambitious. “If you get too comfortable where you are,” Thomas says, “you stop growing as a person and life can become meaningless and depressing.”

Thomas sat back and reread his latest composition about growing up. "Well, this story has the conflict of personality types, the conflict of chaos and order, and the conflict between thrift and spending, but it is upbeat and delves into spiritual growth. Will anyone read it, though?"

Tom and the Sex-crazed High School Teachers

2010-02-06T00:53:00.000-08:00

Special Sex Ed

Ms. Groo was a chubby special education teacher in her thirties when Tom was in high school. Most of the 2000 pupils on campus knew her simply because she taught the “retards,” as the crasser kids called them. Tom befriended a couple of these lower IQed students. He would see them walking home from school alone and would pull up along side them on his bicycle and walk and talk for a while. Some of those kids had interesting views of the world and some came from very strange families.

Anyway, back to Ms. Groo. Tom knew very little about her, but admired a teacher that would spend her day trying to drill life skills into students who required extreme patience. That is until one day--she wasn't at the school anymore. Tom soon learned that she had been fired from the school district for allegedly having sex with one of her special students.

Arrogant Charisma

The high school had a couple of theater teachers while Tom attended. One of them was Mr. Showmaker, a thirty-year old, clean cut, well-built man who had acted in some television prior to becoming a schoolteacher. He was handsome and several of the girls giggled when they gossiped about him.

Mr. Showmaker took charge of an after school martial arts club for students to work out and train with him. Tom decided to join. The club was supposed to be a place where martial arts students of different disciplines could show each other moves. Mr. Showmaker quickly changed that and made it more into a showcase for his abilities. One day, Mr. Showmaker, decked out in his karate gi, told the club members that he was very annoyed that a woman he knew who was a black belt had let her boyfriend beat her because she did not have the will to fight.

“Having a belt will do you no good if you do not know how to face a combative situation,” he said, “So, I’m going to have each of you spar with me, and you’ll learn. I don’t want anyone that I train with to be like that black belt woman.”

Tom did not like this. He came to martial arts club because he thought that the Oriental art was fascinating, not because he wanted to fight with a teacher. Tom and one of his friends often sparred for sport in his friend's back yard on a mat made out of carpets. Tom had also fought plenty of bullies throughout his public school days and it seemed to him that Showmaker was just trying to show off. Tom knew it was supposed to be only a sparring match, but he knew that he would very likely injure Showmaker in the process, and perhaps Showmaker, who was much stronger and more skilled, would then thrash him. Showmaker had the air of someone you did not mess with. An assault on his ego could result in physical harm. Tom regretted joining the club and this would be the last day he would go. He even considered leaving then and there.

Tom had never had Showmaker as a teacher, but his parents had run into him once while at the school for an Orchestra concert that Tom had performed in on the theater stage. Showmaker talked to Tom’s prim and proper mother about something, and almost said the word “sh*t,” but caught himself at the last minute. Tom had been standing nearby and his mother later commented on this.

“Mr. Showmaker almost said a bad word,” she said, “I could tell.”

Now, as Tom sat awaiting his turn to spar with the man, he recalled this conversation. It seemed to 16-year-old Tom that Showmaker had a hard time controlling himself. He recalled another time when Mr. Showmaker and Tom’s Orchestra teacher, Mr. Wirrin, started yelling at each other during class. Mr. Showmaker went into the room where the Orchestra was rehearsing and started complaining that Mr. Wirrin had left chairs and stands on Showmaker's stage after a rehearsal. He was very rude to Mr. Wirrin in front of Mr. Wirrin’s students. When he left the classroom, Mr. Wirrin turned to his Orchestra students and shook his head, “What a jerk,” he mumbled.

So, Tom sparred, or rather he blocked everything that Showmaker threw and decided to be defensive rather than aggressive. Often when he fought bullies, Tom liked to wear them down by defending. Many bullies had more powerful muscles that could seriously injure Tom if fists landed on his face, but Tom had endurance on his side and could literally be the last one able to stand. Unlike many bullies, Tom had extensive martial arts training both from classes and from drill instruction from his ex marine father. Over and over again, bullies would throw all of their conviction into the first few moments but rarely had the stamina or patience to beat someone who cooly defended and stuck only when opportunity presented. Mr. Showmaker criticized Tom for not now engaging him.

“You can’t be afraid to hit me. Don’t be like that woman and just stand there and take it.”

Tom replied, “That friend of yours, she survived, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I intend to survive too. I may not have struck you, but none of your strikes are getting me.” Tom knew that Showmaker was just waiting for Tom to throw a punch that would end him in an arm bar on the ground, a move that would have made the other’s awe at Showmaker’s prowess. Tom had just watched Showmaker throw one of the other club members to the ground moments before.

When Showmaker realized that sparring scrawny Tom was not going to end in his glory, he told Tom to take a seat so he could then demonstrate some moves.

Tom did not go back to the club. He believed that the teacher had a streak of narcissism in him that was difficult to respect. Several months later, he went to see the student stage production that Showmaker had worked on with his students. The main star, a sixteen-year-old, did not perform that evening. An ambulance came to the school and she was taken away. With that distraction, the play was awful. Tom learned the next day that she had had a nervous breakdown because Showmaker had allegedly been having sex with her, and that, coupled with her pending debut in front of her parents and classmates, had been too much for her to handle that night. Showmaker was forced to resign in disgrace shortly thereafter.

No Law School for You!

2010-02-04T00:55:00.000-08:00

Thomas had just finished his Real Estate degree cum laude from the University of Las Vegas, Nevada in the year 2000 and considered attending law school. He filed an application to only one place, William S. Boyd, which was Nevada’s new and only law school. As part of the application process, he had to get a certified copy of his high school transcript. “No problem,” he thought, “I still live with my parents near the school. I’ll just stop in.”

And so, Thomas, a college graduate, walked into the high school where he had collected so many unpleasant memories. He went into the administration office and recalled several uncomfortable situations. First, he recalled the time he locked his bicycle to a secretary’s desk. Then he looked at the floor where a punk who had spit in his face fell to his knees begging for forgiveness. Around the corner, he and his parents had complained about the poor educatory skills of one of the science teachers. And, just beyond that, was the spot he and his parents told a counselor that his younger brother had died the night before in a hiking accident. Thomas strode to the person in charge of records while trying to clear his mind of all the negativity.

“So you want to go to law school?”

“No not really, that’s why I am applying.”

“Well, here is your transcript.” Her eyes almost bulged at all the tents she saw on the papers.

“What do these pointy letters mean?” she asked.

“Oh, those are As.”

“I notice that you have more credits than you needed. Wait, wait a second…you are missing a half a credit of physical education.”

Thomas looked at her. He recalled taking one year of ROTC, which fulfilled one PE credit. Then, he remembered running on the cross-country team “Kicking Asphalt” for a semester to fill more PE credits.

“But you only took cross-country for one semester, not two,” was the bureaucratic response.

“Let me get this straight. I did more exercise running cross country for a semester than every student that took PE for two years and you’re saying I’m a half credit short?”

“Looks that way.” Thomas couldn’t tell if she was teasing him for his prior sarcasm.

“You are also telling me that I received a diploma from this school and another diploma from UNLV but will now have to take a semester of PE because I was a credit short?” Thomas grinned ironically.

The bureaucrat did not say anything. She tilted her head slightly, as if wondering what this future lawyer would say next.

Thomas cleared his throat, “Ok, does the transcript say that I lettered in Chess, one of my extracurricular activities. You know, it’s that strategy game where you physically move objects around. I think I used quite a few calories there. That club ought to count for a credit too. Oh, and I was in speech and debate club as well. My mouth got quite a work out there and that ought to count for another credit. I was also in Orchestra for four years, lots of arm swinging and finger moving involved. Also, I rode a bicycle to school and home every day, four miles, with a burden. I think that made me more physically active than most. Seems to me that that transcript is wrong and I should have a surplus of PE credits.”

The bureaucrat finally cracked a smile as she turned away, “You’ll be alright.”

Tom and the Sociopath Bully

2010-02-01T00:16:00.000-08:00

Some bullies have an aura around them that says they are tough and will not be broken. Generally, schoolyard bullies enjoy the power and esteem of harassing a person who will not stand up to them; however, there exist a class of bullies that do not fear opposition. If you beat this type to a pulp, they will just come after you with a knife or a gun later, so it is best to avoid tangling with them.

Thomas sat back in his office chair. As a criminal defense attorney in Sin City, he had no shortage of clients. Unlike many other criminal defense attorneys who wanted money and did not care whom they represented, Thomas always sought innocent people to represent. First time offenders or people who were truly not guilty of the crime charged kept his client base small and exclusive. Yet he was busy because he found that it was often harder work to represent the innocent than the guilty.

Thomas decided long ago that he did not want to represent sociopaths. Even though sociopaths could be repeat business, they have a tendency to lie to get their way and resort to violence when they do not get their way, or just for the hell of it. Thomas did not need to worry about this element when innocent people required justice. Besides, good people paid their legal fees with honest money.

After his ten-year high school reunion, Thomas thought about those who did not attend. One in particular, John, was a bully that followed Tom through twelve years of public schooling, and every several years they had a run in. John was a stocky kid who was probably beaten at home by abusive parents and did not care about pain. He also hung with a rough crowd and seemed to enjoy violence for the sake of violence, and not for another reason. Thomas thought about some of the fights he and his brothers had against John and his gang.

In fifth grade, Tommy and his twin third grade brothers rode their bicycles home from elementary school together. John and a gang of five fifth graders saw them and started to chase, calling them every imaginative name they could muster with their limited four-letter vocabularies. Tommy’s dad, Noland, happened to drive down the street toward them in his truck and stopped.

“What’s going on?” he yelled across the street.

Tommy crossed as the five fifth graders pulled up behind his brothers, “They are chasing us. They want to beat us up.”

“Go tell them you’ll fight them, then,” Noland said. Noland always believed that standing up to bullies would make them leave you alone. But, he did not know John. To Noland, John just looked like another little fifth grader. He did not see the monster in the child.

Tommy walked back over to his brothers and faced the gang, which outnumbered and out-sized them, “I’ll take you all on!” he shouted angrily.

Over the next several minutes, the three brothers and the five fifth graders tussled. Fifth graders would pick up the younger boys and throw them down. Finally, a school crossing guard and some parents from down the street pulled up and threatened to call the police and the school, which effectively ended the melee.

Tommy and his brothers rode toward home and John and his gang followed. Noland stopped John and Tommy on the side of the street to figure out what happened while the other boys rode on.

“They called my mother a f*cking whore,” John lied without blinking.

“What!” Noland’s face contorted with fury. He set his beer can on his seat, reached out, and slapped Tommy across the face. “Get home! I’ll deal with you when I get there!”

Tommy rode home in tears. His own father did not let him speak to defend himself. Noland had just undermined the whole effort in fighting the bullies. John now knew that he could harass Tommy and Tommy would not even have the support of his own father. When Noland arrived home, his three sons endured hours of Marine corps punishment, including “dirty doubles” and other physical exercises, picking up cigarette butts along the street, and instructions on how to fight well into the evening. Tommy remembers the stench of alcohol, as this was a few years before his father gave up his addiction.

Over the next several years, Tommy avoided John in every way he could, but sometimes it was unavoidable. When Tommy had to take a bus to school in sixth and seventh grade, John knew where to find Tommy. One day in eighth grade, Tommy had just exited the bus on his way home and John, with his teenage friends in their car, chased him. Tommy ran through private yards and jumped fences. When he thought he was in the clear, he continued on foot down the road toward home, only to have John pull up near him.

John got out of the car and ran over to Tommy, who stood burdened with a violin and a book bag. Tommy was out of breath from the running and jumping he had just done. Adrenalin coursed through his veins, telling him to flee and hide instead of stand and fight.

To Tommy’s later shame, he stood there as John pushed him up against a wall, “Please, leave me alone,” Tommy struggled saying, “I have asthma, and you could kill me.” Tommy did not have asthma, but he did not want to fight this kid who had teen-aged friends and who already had Tommy’s father on his side. The adrenalin seemed to flood into his stomach, his arms felt heavy.

“You’re a weak, girly piece of sh*t,” John slapped Tommy across the face. Tommy just stood there, holding his violin. “You’re not worth it,” John punched Tommy in the stomach and then sauntered back to the car.

Tommy never told another person of this humiliating experience.

A few years later, Tom and his brothers were walking up a neighborhood street toward Frenchman Mountain with a friend. They planned to hike to the top and look down on Las Vegas. On the way, John and a couple of other kids spotted them and John decided to have some fun. He told a kid who was riding a kick scooter to run into Tom’s brother’s ankles.

“Go ahead, they won’t do anything,” Tom could hear John tell the other kid.

Tom was now fifteen and fed up. He, his brothers, and his friend outnumbered the three bullies. As the scooter was about to hit his brother’s ankle, Tom swung around and punched the kid in the face. Over the next fifteen minutes, the boys fought. Tom would punch and block in the normal boxing style. The other kid obviously did not know how to fight, and dove at Tom several times like a football tackle. On one of the tackles, Tom grabbed the kid’s shoulders and threw him to the ground with jujitsu, then sat on his stomach while pinning his arms.

“Give up!” Tom demanded.

“No way!” the kids retorted.

Tom then punched the kid in the face again so that his head bounced off the cement of the driveway they fell onto. “Give up!”

“No.”

Tom bounced the kid’s head off the cement a few more times. “I could kill you, you know.” Tom stated coolly.

“I don’t care,” the kid said. Apparently, the kid wanted to save face in front of John--the instigator, the ringleader.

Tom hit him a few more times, “Concussions can be serious--give up!”

“No!”

“Ok, let’s call it even. Neither has to give up, let’s just walk away.”

“I’ll get you off of me and then you’re done!” was the weak response.

Tom slammed the kid in the head a couple more times. The old man who lived in the home whose property they were on came out and threatened to call the police if they didn’t get off his property.

“Call the police!” Tom yelled, but the old man mumbled, "snotty brat" and ignored Tom.

“I’m letting you up, now. We can walk away from this with all of our teeth. I haven’t knocked any of yours out yet, but if I get you down like this again, you’ll need to see a dentist.”

Once up, the stubborn boy wanted to keep fighting. “You’re bleeding,” Tom pointed out, “and you probably don’t have a headache yet, but you will. I can block what you throw all day long. You’ve barely touched me. Let’s just call it a truce.”

The kid reluctantly decided to take the advice.

The crowd of neighborhood kids that had come to audience the fight disbanded as Tom and Co. continued their hike. John and his beaten bully went the other way.

That had been the last incident that Thomas can remember involving John. Thomas gazed at his computer monitor and decided to type John’s name into the criminal database to learn whether John ever had been incarcerated. Sure enough, John had a long rap sheet and was currently in prison for twelve years. John had assaulted several people with a weapon and also committed armed robbery.

“John was a sociopath as a kid, and he is to this day,” Thomas thought, “Nope, not the kind of client I would represent. The amygdala is just a little too small to be helped. The public defenders can have that joy.”

Tom Learns about Knives and Orchestra Teachers

2010-01-31T04:27:00.000-08:00

Tom played the violin in school for seven years, sixth through twelfth grade. During that time, he had four different Orchestra teachers. His first was a twenty-something year old, short man, of Swiss descent teaching at a sixth grade center. The second Orchestra teacher was a young woman of Irish descent who taught seventh grade.

His third was an old man of Scottish descent who taught Tom in eighth and ninth grade before retiring, named Mr. Abbotson. And the fourth was a forty-something year old African American who took over from Mr. Abbotson, named Mr. Wirrin. The best of the four was Mr. Abbotson who looked liked a composer or conductor of old. He always wore a bow tie and a Hanna hat when outside to cover his bald head. The worst teacher was the jazz playing bassist Mr. Wirrin, who could play a mean bass but couldn't teach worth a darn. These last two are worth discussing in more detail.

The old Scott played the piano and cello expertly, but learned proficiency on all of the instruments. When the eighth grade Orchestra students went on a bus trip to Disneyland, Mr. Abbotson made sure that the trip was full of music. He had them perform at a junior high along the way and then again in Disneyland’s orchestral studio, playing a sound track for an animated movie. He had them all go see The Phantom of the Opera in the evening.

At night, when all of the students were supposed to sleep in their shared hotel rooms, the old man sat in a lawn chair in the parking lot, and stared up at all the rooms to let the kids know he was watching and they had better behave. He was probably asleep, but to Tom and the others, his presence outside meant they would be caught if they attempted leaving their rooms. Tom thought it was a little creepy seeing Mr. Abbotson in his bow tie, hat, and glasses--unmoving, like a vampire waiting for activity upon which to pounce.

Mr. Abbotson would sometimes tell stories in class, but he would make sure that most of the time was spent playing music. One story he told involved the progress on his home he had bought and all of the governmental problems he was running into to get certain additions and landscaping approved by Clark County. Tom had no idea that Mr. Abbotson was talking about a home around the corner from where Tom lived, until sometime later when he saw his aged teacher taking a routine walk around the hood.

When Abbotson retired from the Clark County School District after many decades of teaching, he held private lessons in his home and Tom would go every week to improve his violin skills. Mr. Abbotson had installed a grand piano in his living room and would sometimes invite neighbors over to perform for them. A couple years after Tom graduated high school, Mr. Abbotson decided to move to another State to be close to his grandchildren. Tom, a real estate major in college, purchased the home from his old high school teacher and private violin tutor. Years later, Tom visited the old man. He was still giving private lessons and he gave daily performances on a grand piano in Nordstrom’s.

Mr. Wirrin, on the other hand, was a completely different teacher. Tom had this Orchestra teacher for three years, the longest of all four. Looking back, Tom thinks he wasted a lot of time taking Orchestra those last three years. Mr. Wirrin spent most of the class hour every day complaining about how the students did not practice enough at home. He said that they would not get a superior rating at the yearly inter-school competition if they did not. He told the students that if they did not take Orchestra seriously, the program would be in jeopardy because sports was considered by school officials to be more important to fund than music programs.

Tom would often wonder why the class time was wasted. The students could have been practicing instead of listening to Mr. Wirrin, who seemed to like to hear himself speak even though his communication skills were severely lacking. Wirrin would pepper his monologues with “ums” and “uhs.” At concerts, when he introduced a piece the orchestra would play, he sounded very nervous and the “ums” and “uhs” only increased in incidence. Tom would cringe in discomfort as he considered what the audience must think.

When Mr. Wirrin took the students on bus trips to Magic Mountain, or other parks in California, as was the yearly tradition, he took no extra effort to make the trips memorable. There were no stops along the way to play with other schools. The only stops were in Barstow for lunch and several stops so the chaperons and bus driver could smoke. Instruments were left at home. At night, Wirrin slept in his own room and wore sound-canceling headphones so he would not be disturbed.

On one of the trips to California, when Tom was eighteen and a senior, Tom carried his Swiss army knife, an heirloom bespeaking his Swiss ancestry. On the bus, one of the other students was having difficulty opening a package of junk food and Tom assisted with his pocketknife. A chaperoning parent, upon sight of the knife, acted hysterically and pointed it out to Wirrin, who confiscated it.

“I’m surprised that you would break the rules,” he scolded Tom. “I could keep you from going into the park tomorrow for bringing this knife.”

“But I am an adult, outside of school, on a weekend. We are not even taking a school bus,” Tom explained, “What’s wrong with me bringing a tool with me? We use knives all the time to eat. Students were using butter knives and steak knives at lunch in Barstow.”

“That’s different,” Wirrin said, without explaining why. “I’m going to have a word with your father when we get back. This is a very serious thing you did. I thought you had more sense and were more responsible than this. You know the younger students see you as an example.”

If he had not lost respect for Mr. Wirrin in the two and a half years prior, Tom had now lost every vestige of it. Tom considered dropping out of Orchestra for the remainder of the year and taking another class instead. Other students had done it, but Tom ultimately wanted to see things through, even if it was uncomfortable.

That night in his hotel room, Mr. Wirrin wore his noise-canceling headphones, which he had bragged about to some of the parents on the bus. He was oblivious to the shenanigans going on throughout the hotel by high school students. A hotel window was broken. Students that wanted to sleep were harassed by those that did not. The hotel was alive with teenagers most of the night. Boys were going to girls' rooms; girls were going to boys'.

Tom thought that he could have saved the money on his hotel room and slept better in a lawn chair. His roommates were not letting him sleep as they called other students on the hotel phones, called each other names involving homosexuality because four were supposed to share two beds, etc. Tom almost hit one of the squirly boys in the face to get him to shut his obnoxious hole, but thought better of it and sat out the night in a chair.

Upon returning to Las Vegas, Mr. Wirrin sought out Tom’s father’s car and strode over to the driver’s side. Tom’s former Marine father, Noland, looked sternly out of his window at Mr. Wirrin as Tom put his luggage in the trunk.

“Your son did a very dangerous thing which is against the school rules. He was caught with a knife on the bus. I have it here and wanted to give it to you personally. Tom is going to graduate soon, so I will not raise this with the dean. You better make sure he does not bring it to school.”

To Mr. Wirrin's chagrin, Nol handed the knife to Tom.

On the ride home, Nol looked over at his son and grinned. “It’s a good thing he didn’t know about this,” Nol pulled out and showed the handgun that he had concealed illegally in his palm beside his seat for protection.

The neighborhood around the school was getting worse and worse, after all.

Tommy Should Be Held Back in First Grade

2010-01-24T22:52:00.000-08:00

Tommy’s parents kept him home, while others his age attended Kindergarten. They taught him the alphabet and numbers. The only interaction he had with other children, were his two younger brothers. Tommy’s parents did not believe in television in the home, so he did not see Sesame Street or cartoons. Instead, they took him to work with them and explored the outdoors for recreation.

When he finally went to first grade in 1983, he was somewhat bewildered. He did what he thought he was supposed to do. He never raised his hand for permission to get a drink of water; he simply went.

This was forbidden.

From an early age, school taught children to ask permission and submit to authority. Tommy was a year late in this most important aspect of public education. His reluctance to recognize authority would follow him throughout life.

He was obedient when instructed in a course of action, but in the absence of instruction, he did his own thing. The other children, who had shared Kindergarten and television experiences, played together. Tommy played alone. The teacher observed Tommy’s odd, non-conformist behavior.

She must call his parents.

At the parent/teacher conference, the teacher learned that Tommy had not gone to Kindergarten. “If I had known that, I would not have accepted him in my class,” she said, “I think he will have to be held back a grade.”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy’s parents said, “He just has to get used to school.”

Tommy caught his stride in fourth grade. Thereafter, he was in the top one percent of his class, eventually graduating cum laude from UNLV, and then law school.

Thomas uses his non-conformism to defend clients who have not conformed to the expectations of State authority. His innocent clients often face severe punishment. The press libels, vilifies, and implies guilt, whenever the police or prosecutors serve them up a scandalous story. Without the aid of their attorney, they would have no chance against a money-based justice system.

Thomas muses, “If my parents had agreed to hold me back in first grade, I would have remained behind my class and probably never have felt the desire to excel. The school system tried to break my individuality, but my parents did not let it. Now I try to prevent the cold bureaucratic system from breaking others. Life is too short to live only for the expectations of others. Presumption of innocence is hard to maintain for clients when many believe that suspicion equals guilt. Most people think a non-conformist is guilty.”

John G alt should have been a criminal defense lawyer.

Tom and the After School Spit in the Eye

2010-01-24T18:51:00.000-08:00

Ms. James was a beautiful “Careers” teacher, perhaps in her mid-twenties when Tom took the class as a requirement for eleventh grade. This was one of the few classes where Tom had to spend time with average and below-average students because all of his other classes were designated “Honors” or “Distinguished Scholar” for students that had college in mind. Tom never liked the required classes that contained students with mixed motivations about school because he felt bored, unchallenged, and frustrated with the clowns that caused problems. These classes included Driver’s Ed, PE, Careers, and Health. One reason Tom took Naval Junior ROTC in high school was to avoid the morons in PE.

At the desk next to Tom sat Woran, a stocky teen with a scar on his forehead. Tom and Woran had gone to the same schools for many years but rarely had classes together, so Tom knew almost nothing of Woran. As Ms. James spoke about résumés, Woran started talking loud enough for his neighbors to hear:

“I’m going to f*ck that hot b*tch after class.”

Tom glanced over at Woran, but held his breath.

“She gonna get it long and hard.”

Woran was bobbing his head with a smirk and was obviously referencing Ms. James. As he was about to speak again, Tom leaned across the aisle and said, “Be quiet!”

“Boy you gonna get it!” Woran threatened.

Ms. James then called across the classroom, “Something you two need to say?”

Tom and Woran said nothing.

Tom went the rest of the day without thinking about the incident. After school, he strapped his violin to the back of his bicycle, adjusted his backpack over his shoulders, and headed for home.

At about the mile mark, a car of teenagers veered up next to him, and drove to keep pace alongside Tom’s bicycle. He heard someone from the backseat shout, that’s him. Tom saw that it was Woran. The teen in the passenger seat shouted, “Faggot!” and hurled spit which landed in Tom’s eye.

Tom quickly considered his options. There were five boys in the car, two in the front, three in the back. The only one he recognized was Woran. The street was vacant except for them. Should he drop his bike and run? Should he stop and throw his bike at the car and fight? This looked like a gang, and so they very likely had weapons. Was it worth losing his teeth or his life? Was it worth killing one of them?

Tom swiveled his bike around and up onto the side walk. He sped around a corner onto a street in a residential neighborhood. The car flipped and followed him. At 15 miles per hour, the car drove two feet behind him, threatening to run him over if he stopped or fell. Tom headed for a house, drove up the driveway, dropped his bike, ran up to the front door, and knocked and rang the bell furiously. A woman answered, without opening.

“Please, call the police. I’m being attacked by a gang. This is Tom.”

The car of boys left while Tom waited an hour for the police to arrive and escort him home. Tom was so upset that he stormed down the hallway to his room, ripped off his jacket while yelling at his parents that he needed a car, and swung the jacket with the intent of it landing in his bedroom. Instead, the jacket snagged the overhead light fixture in the hallway and shattered it. That night, as he took out his violin to practice, he found that it was completely out of tune from the violent bike ride. He was lucky. The violin was a family heirloom passed down from his Grandmother in Switzerland. It could easily have been destroyed had he not exercised the better part of discretion and ran for safety.

The next day Tom went to the Principal’s office to make a statement about the attack. As he walked in, he noticed the kid who spat on him sitting in a chair. Upon seeing Tom, the kid went down on his knees. He was crying.

“Dude, I’m so sorry about yesterday. Please don’t report on me. I don’t wanna go to juvie again.”

Tom looked at him for a second, “Why should I care? You spat on me.”

The kid begged, “I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure no one messes with you anymore. You won’t have to worry. Please don’t report.” His voice stammered and choked as a new volley of tears fell forth.

“I don’t need you looking out for me. I didn’t have a problem until you ruined my day yesterday. Am I going to have to get a rabies shot? You don’t have rabies or AIDS, do you?” Tom had zero respect for this punk begging for mercy. “If I don’t report you and you kill me, no one will think it was you who did it. If I end up killing you, no one will understand why if I don’t report you. Next time, think before you act!”

Tom went on to write his report. He mentioned Woran and described the other gang members. While there, he noticed another student in his class also writing a report. He learned this other student had been attacked by the same gang moments before they targeted Tom. They held him up at knife point and stole his jacket.

The remainder of that year and the following year, Tom did not see any of the gang again.

Eleven years later, at Tom’s ten year high school reunion, a tall slender man walked over to him. This man looked like the movie star Will Smith and carried himself in a respectable manner. Tom glanced up, then glanced up again. It was a taller, leaner version of Woran. They shook hands and Woran stated that he was now a high-ranking official in the United States Navy. Tom, on the other hand, was a Las Vegas criminal defense attorney.

Tom shared his memory of the attack all those years back and that he did not hold a grudge. Woran said that he was in a different mind-set back then. Tom thanked Woran for his service in the military, especially during a time of war, and they parted as friends who would keep in touch.

Tom wonders what happened to the kid that spat in his face all those years ago, but he had long since forgotten the kid’s name.

Bikes Stolen from Indifferent Public High School

2010-01-23T23:10:00.000-08:00

Tom rode his bicycle two miles each way to high screwel, until he bought his first beat-up car in his senior year. Tom wanted other students to think he was oblivious to, or unaffected by, their opinions about his appearance. He carried his viola in a bucket attached to the seat of his bike, wore an ROTC uniform on certain days of the week, and carried a thirty-pound backpack full of books every screwel day.

He took elective classes and maintained perfect grades, which bespoke obedience to authority, yet inwardly he was a rebel against both the other students and the faculty as well. He hated the routine of screwel: the metal detectors, the obnoxious classmates who egged him from their cars, and the faculty that only seemed to know the names of the troubled kids but not the honor roll students. He put up with it, because it was only a four-year sentence. He knew that the harder he worked, the easier life would be later.

During his second year of high screwel, Tom’s bikes kept disappearing from the bike racks during school hours. The bike rack was a small yard enclosed by an eight-foot chain link fence with no roof. It was easy for thieves with bolt cutters to jump the fence, cut the lock, throw the bike over, and make off with it. Tom purchased fixer-upper replacement bikes so he would have transportation. Each time, he fastened buckets to the seats for his viola.

After his third bike disappeared, and the less than interested staff ignored his third complaint, Tom decided to make a point. He rode his latest clunker of a bike to screwel, walked it into the principal’s office, and set about chaining it to one of the desks. Immediately, a screwel bureaucrap told him to take the bike outside.

“But I have to get to class. I don’t have time to take it outside now.”

“You have to put it in the bike rack.”

“I cannot afford to have another bike stolen because you don’t care about security.”

“Look, you take that bike out of here right now or I’ll call campus police!”

“You mean the same police that are supposed to be guarding the bike rack? What do you expect they will do?”

“You’ll be expelled for insubordination. We’ll notify your ROTC Commander!”

“My ROTC Commander will laugh at you. He knows all about your failed security.”

“That’s it, what’s your name? We’re going to call your parents.”

“Great, they’ll laugh at you too. My father is tired of buying new bikes.”

Tom ignored the bureaucrap, finished locking his bike to the secretary’s desk, and headed, viola in hand, for his first class.

“What’s your name?”

“Check the honor roll, I’m near the top. Ask my ROTC Commander which of his cadets has complained about campus security. Heck, just look at the last three reports I filed.”

Campus security yanked Tom out of orchestra class and called his very busy, hardworking, tax paying parents.

“Your son was very rude today. He used curse words and refused to remove his bicycle from the office. I’m afraid we’re going to have to suspend him.”

Several teachers, the ROTC commander, a threat to go to the media, and a threat to contact an attorney finally convinced the screwel bureaucraps to acquiesce. Tom missed two classes that morning. The screwel would not spend two hundred dollars to secure the bike rack by roofing it with chain link, and yes, Tom’s fourth bike was stolen during screwel hours a couple of months later.

His were not the only bikes stolen, either. The thieves had stolen thousands of dollars’ worth of bikes, while the screwel bureaucraps sat on their hands. Maybe Tom should have called a lawyer, but his parents could not afford one.

Tom suggested to his ROTC commander that the cadets could look out for their own by patrolling the area during the day, perhaps while marching. Tom did not have to purchase a sixth bike.

Learning Math in Public Schools of Las Vegas

2010-01-23T17:48:00.000-08:00

Tommy was confused.

His third-grade teacher droned on and on about whole numbers and how important they were.

Tommy raised his hand shyly, “Why are they called whole numbers?”

“They are called whole numbers, Tommy, because that is what the mathematician decided they should be called.”

“But positive numbers have negative numbers. Is that why we call it whole numbers, because there are part numbers too?”

The other children in the class giggled.

“You are not yet ready to learn about that. First, you have to learn whole numbers. Your teacher next year will teach you about other numbers.”

“But…”

The bell rang for recess. The other kids taunted Tommy, “Math nerd, math nerd, Tommy is a math nerd!” Then they rushed off to play basketball without him.

Tommy did his homework, all the while confused. He memorized the concept, without understanding it fully, expecting that someday someone would explain it to him since neither his teacher nor his math book would.

Sure enough, in fifth grade, another teacher finally taught about part numbers. She called them fractions. “Fractions are also called rational numbers,” she added.

Tommy was confused. Why call them rational? If rational means sane, shouldn’t there also be crazy, or insane, numbers? Why not just call them fractions? Why the other name?

Tommy did not want the other kids to make fun of him, so he did not raise his hand. Instead, he would ask the teacher at her desk after class.

“You are not yet ready to learn about that yet,” his teacher said. “First, you have to learn fractional numbers. You’ll learn about that in the years to come. For now, just remember that fractions and rational numbers are the same thing.”

In the age before the Internet and Wikipedia, Tommy had nowhere else to turn without spending hours at the library, so Tommy waited two more years to learn about irrational numbers. His seventh grade teacher explained that irrational numbers, such as pi, could not be a ratio or a fraction. If it was this simple, why didn’t his fifth grade teacher explain it? Didn’t she know?

In seventh grade, the teacher mentioned real numbers. She said that real numbers were all numbers on the number line.

Tommy was confused.

After a long night wondering about real numbers, Tommy stood in front of his teacher’s desk, with the nagging question. “I thought numbers on the number line were called integers, whole numbers, fractions, positive numbers, and negative numbers. Why are they now also called real numbers?”

The teacher looked up at him with dead, empty eyes.

Tommy clarified, “If there are real numbers, shouldn’t there be fake numbers too?”

“Have a seat Tommy. My teacher’s guide doesn’t explain it. I think you’ll learn more about other numbers in later math classes like Trigonometry or Calculus – if you take those classes.”

Tom enjoyed the games that math presented. He continued to take math as an elective, even after the requirement ended. His teachers’ failure to explain the underlying principles left him flummoxed.

At long last, five years later, Tom learned the reason. “Real numbers are real because some numbers are imaginary,” his calculus teacher explained. Imaginary numbers are square roots of negative numbers.

If it was so simple, why couldn’t the seventh grade teacher explain it? Didn’t she know? No, she did not.

Years out of school, Thomas’s persistent pursuit of knowledge paid off. He became a successful attorney despite the constant confusion created by well-meaning, but under-prepared educators. Unfortunately, there are not enough Jaime Escalantes in the teaching universe who make math interesting, applicable to life, and instill motivation for further exploration.

Years later, while visiting Wal-Mart, the checkout clerk squinted at Thomas, “Didn’t I see you on the news last night? You’re a lawyer?”

After a few seconds, Thomas recognized one of the classmates that had called him a math nerd. “Yep, guilty,” said the attorney, “not my client, though.”

The clerk tried to scan the crackerjack box, “Ahem, the register ain’t working. Let me go get my manager.”

“It’s ok.” Thomas handed the clerk the exact change for his purchase. The clerk could not mentally calculate sales tax on a one dollar item. “I’ll see you later.”

“I need to get a manager to authorize use of another register to print a receipt.”

“No, its ok. I have somewhere to be.”

Thomas strode to the exit. A familiar old lady with dead, empty eyes raised her wrinkled hand to halt him at the door. “I need to mark your receipt, sir.”

Thomas handed her the crackerjacks he just purchased. “Nevermind, I need to get to court,” he said impatiently. He left, the store a dollar-seven short and empty handed.

On the way to his car, Thomas thought about the many years of free education that his former classmate and school teacher each had, yet they both worked at Wal-mart.

Thomas was confused.

Spelling Bee Given by Illiterate Screwel Employee

2010-01-23T17:39:00.000-08:00

It was lunch period at Von Toilet Bowl Tommy’s nickname for his favorite school in the seventh grade. A small group of thugs encircled him on the playground. One of the bullies shoved him and yelled, “Wanna fight $#!+head?”

Tommy’s backpack fell off his shoulder from the push. His marine father would not have taken this treatment from anyone. An adult playground monitor stood nearby, vigilantly monitoring, but doing nothing to help.

“You’re going to die,” the bully shouted as he shoved again. “I’ll shove that violin you play up your @$!”

The other thugs chuckled at Tommy’s torment.

Tommy punched the bully in the left eye hard enough to knock him to the ground.

The monitor sprang to the rescue, while calling bravely on his walkie-talkie for backup. He and his brave backup dragged Tommy and the bully to the Dean’s office.

Tommy had thought his fighting days were over after moving to Von Toilet Bowl Junior High from the sixth grade center in the bad neighborhood the year before.

Not so.

Tommy sat in the dean’s reception area facing a wall that was one big window looking out into the hall. The bully stood in the hall taunting him with his middle finger and making evil faces. Why was Tommy in the dean’s office and the troublemaker apparently free out in the hall? The injustice made Tommy tear up.

The secretary noticed Tommy’s tears, “Need a hanky honey?”

“Why is he free out there while I’m still in here?” asked Tommy, sounding somewhat meeker than he had intended.

“Oh, he’s not out there. He’s in the other room.”

“I saw him through the glass out there. He just flipped me off and threatened me. I could read his lips.”

The secretary rolled her eyes and dialed Tommy’s parents for the inevitable meeting – the meeting that would precipitate punishment for violating the zero-tolerance fighting rule.

Tommy would later learn that the bully had an identical twin, which explained why the bully in the window did not have a black eye. For the following two weeks, the identical twins were not so identical.

The Dean could have suspended Tommy, as he did with the bully. Instead, he punished Tommy with “in-house” suspension for three days, so Tommy wouldn’t miss school and his grades would not suffer. Tommy spent his suspension in a room with bad kids, isolated from everyone. He even had to eat lunch there.

Tommy’s sense of justice was shattered. He cried in front of his parents and the dean. The school did not care whether he lived or died. Kids could knife him while the monitor watched and did nothing, but the moment he defended himself, he was in trouble.

The Dean seemed genuinely concerned, “May I give your son something to read?”

It was the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling. It was the Dean’s way to show that he disagreed with the school district’s draconian policy. The poem would comfort Tommy when faced with injustice in the years to come.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
…
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!

The rest of the year, no bully bothered Tommy. The mark of courage he punched into the bully’s eye lasted long enough to get the point across that Tommy should be left alone.

During in-house suspension, the school hosted a school-wide spelling bee for students in honors English classes. The winners would compete with the winners of other schools in the county, and eventually the State. Tommy knew he was by no means the best speller in the school.

The in-house suspension monitor called him to her desk to administer the test for the spelling bee. None of the other suspended students there were honors students, so only Tommy would take the test. The monitor was to read a word, and then Tommy would write it down correctly. Then the monitor would take Tommy’s list to his teacher.

Frequently, she did not know how to pronounce the word she was to read, and showed the word to Tommy before he wrote it down.

“I not sure how this word sounds. What you think?”

Tommy looked at the word, “Oh, that’s mnemonic (nuh-mon-ik).”

“Ok, what about this word?”

Tommy looked at the list again, glancing up and down it quickly before stating, “Oh, that’s pneumonia (nuh-moan-e-uh).”

After completing the list of twenty words, Tommy went back to his carrel desk and smiled. He could have written them all correctly, but he purposefully misspelled a few. He did not want to be the spelling bee champion of the school only to lose against another school.

In spite of his efforts, it was a three-way tie. The three top scorers went to the principal’s office for another bee to select the final representative. The other two students were eighth-graders, a year older than Tommy. Tommy did not win. He remembers one of the words that the principal told him sounded like “lawn-jer-ay,” a word Tommy had never heard before, spelled l-i-n-g-e-r-i-e. Tommy could not believe it. Later, he found the word in a dictionary and learned it was French for women’s undergarments.

“I thought it was supposed to be an English spelling bee,” he later told his English teacher. She was surprised he had scored so high the first time but came in last the second.

“Besides,” he added, “I don’t know much about women’s underwear!”

Las Vegas Sixth Grade Principal Takes Child’s Toy

2010-01-23T17:17:00.000-08:00

Tommy was a sixth grader in 1991. The school district bused him from his neighborhood in Las Vegas several miles to a North Las Vegas sixth grade center as part of their effort to integrate the schools further. To Tommy it promised to be an adventure, but, as he learned, adventures are often adventures because the protagonists face danger, abuse, and hardship. This was exactly the sort of adventure Tommy would endure in the sixth grade.

He never had ridden a bus to school before and it was an experience. The driver was a twenty-something year old who played rap music over the bus speakers. It was the year Will Smith’s “Y ou Saw my Blinker B!tch” came out and it was played over and over again.

It was the first time Tommy had ever heard music with foul language. He sat in the back of the bus where the bad kids sat. He was harassed daily by kids who liked to express themselves with spit, brag about having sex, and tell “your momma” jokes (In Living Color was a popular TV comedy show at the time).

Tommy had difficulty interacting with the kids at school. He did not enjoy playing sports with them because they always wanted to fight. Often they threatened to get their older gangbanging cousins to whoop him at the school bus stop if he said something wrong, or missed a toss into the basketball hoop. The threats were not idle. A couple of months into the school year, a gang-related shooting across from the school playground caused a school lockdown.

So, Tommy took to spending time alone at recess and at lunch. Amazed at the skill of a yo-yo artist he had seen in a fifth-grade school assembly, he decided to use his alone time to learn these skills. He stood out in the grass by himself and swung the toy around, doing stunts like Walk-the-Dog and Around-the-World. An adult recess monitor saw him, confiscated the yo-yo, and dragged him to the Principal’s office to explain why he brought a dangerous weapon onto school property. The principal called Tommy’s parents and threatened to expel him.

The next morning, Tommy’s parents went to the principal’s office. The Principal made them wait twenty minutes. When they went in, the wall-mounted TV blared with children’s cartoons, but he had been alone in there for the prior twenty minutes. Apparently, the principal did not want to miss his favorite cartoon for a silly parent conference. The principal returned the toy and told them, “Tommy best not bring weapons to school no more. After all, yo-yos were used for huntin’ small animals and someone could get serious hurt.”

The principal was temporarily distracted when an anvil flattened Wile E. Coyote.

“If he gots a toy might get him in trouble, he should come see me in the mornin’ and ask whether he can bring it to school.”

The principal showed them to the door, two minutes after they entered the office. Another cartoon was starting, and he did not want to miss a second. Tommy’s parents would be late to work this day.

Tommy’s dad later opined, “I think he just took the yo-yo because he wanted to play with himself.”