I have written about my childhood friend, Raymond Brown, in an earlier “Conversation” this year when we became friends and then blood-brothers while attending Fairview Elementary in Indiana. There is more to this friendship worthy of telling.
Not only was Raymond good-humored but also possessed the natural ability to run like an Olympian sprinter. Coaches organized races during P.E., and even in competitions with upper classmates, several of whom picked on us regularly, Raymond would leave them all in the dust. Sometimes Raymond allowed the other competitors a head start just to make it interesting…for him. I distinctly remember his laughter as he blew by us with such ease as if he had a personal tailwind. I wanted to be fast like Raymond, and had hoped our blood exchange would miraculously increase my racing prowess, but it did not provide the desired effect.
Our heavy-duty school desks were fashioned of wood and metal, and we were told by school officials, sturdy enough to withstand a nuclear blast. I guess that information was meant to bring comfort. We practiced scrambling under our desks in preparation for that moment when the big bad Russians would arrive to blow our house down. Raymond just laughed during our nuclear obliteration rehearsals. He had no intention of crawling under his desk if a bomb were fixed upon Fairview Elementary. With his speed, he could out run any blast wave. How could I argue? First “Raymond” lessons learned: 1) don’t believe everything the powers-that-be tell you, and 2) laugh in the face of death.
The playground at Fairview Elementary had upper and lower levels separated by a rock retaining wall. On the upper level were the traditional swing sets, merry-go-rounds, and jungle-gyms. The lower level was an open area for organized games like baseball and capture-the-flag, and in winter when the ground was covered in snow, supervised snowball fights. Snowball fights were only allowed on the lower level, and it was against the rules to throw snowballs from the upper level onto those playing in the lower level.
Among our contemporaries, Raymond and I had our social, cultural, and anthropological critics—he being Black and me with my foreign, southern accent—so when we happened to spy some of our school nemeses playing in the snow on the lower level, we seized the moment and rained down some snowball retribution on the bullies from our higher-ground advantage.
The victims of our attack did not need to report the incident. A classroom teacher was an eyewitness, and when she blew an angry blast from her whistle, all the children on the playground froze as if the White Witch from Narnia had materialized. (To be continued)
