High School Dilemma
((The Wrestling Match) (1964-65))
In this eighth
volume of writing a history of the things I’ve done, perhaps more on the order
of things men and women do, to which I’ve written besides these eight books,
perchance another 50-short stories in three other books, making it at this
point, close to two-hundred short stories, on my travels, Army, war, my drunkenness,
my careers, and especially on our rough
and tumble neighborhood, on histories of people I’ve bumped into, I’ve also
done several on my High School Days. But never on this one subject, a wrestling
incident that took place at my High School, and after the match between the
black guy and me, a lot of controversy took place of “Why…”
The story is on how a battle in wrestling
class was fought. I hold no shame, and I’m sure my opponent, didn’t quite feel
like the winner he’d had like to have been.
Let me put it this way: sometimes the
whole life of a person’s world floats in the human faces of others, in one’s
mind. That said, I
don’t know how to
put it, so let me explain in detail, but first let be backtrack some, and
present a lookalike incident: I had a
fight with another person, a street fight, and I was beating him bad, once I
had him on the ground, ready to beat his face in, he said, “Look over there, they’re cheering for you, you’re putting on a show for
them,” and I looked and, sure enough, I was, so I stood
up, and said, “The show is over.” And they got mad at me.
Now let’s pop up to the wrestling match
in High School. We are both the same
height, weight, I’m perhaps stronger than he is, but he’s pretty athletic—who’s
to say; to which I’m a weightlifter, and semi street fighter, not a bad
wrestler, but hot tempered. The lad didn’t scare me none, I figured I’d take
him down quick. Mentally some things for me are clearly enough, if I couldn’t
he couldn’t, so was my mindset. Thus, the physical education instructor
selected me and Jerry to fight, my name is Chick Evens. And the cheers came, “This will be a good show,” I heard someone
say. I never shied away from fights, or wrestling,
now on the mate, I’m in the more vulnerable position, he needs to turn me over,
move me, I need to get out of his grip around my torso, now for a moment, we
are in a drugged silent state, “Go,” says the instructor, and the roars come, my opponent can’t budge me an
inch. And I hear those same words I heard before, and I’m definite about this
kind of thinking: I can’t put on a show, and I can’t wrestling him, I’ll have
to roll him over and punch him out, the other watchers are murmuring, and Jerry
can’t move me one iota, and he’s trying with all his muscle power, do I act or
react?
I laid down flat, it was not going to be
a show today.
“What did you do that for…?” several voices questioned, “You could have
beat him!”
At first it was a faintly like echo,
then it became an insistent question, one I’d not answer. But today I have.
#1183/10-16-2016
For the forthcoming book: “A Changeable Banquet”
