Masters, Part 3

I didn't really think about my intervention with Brian and Miyako after that. There was a staff meeting to get prepared for, kids to be taken to school and a house to get cleaned up. I told Mel that I would drive the kids down to school, he would get the last bits of the house cleaned up, and Miyako? I told Miyako that she could work on her incident report regarding Brian.

As for me, I liked to take my time getting back to the house after I dropped the kids off at school, and for a couple of reasons. Many of the school staff are my old friends. Most of them used to be counselors just like me but got sick of the low pay and administrative bullshit that goes with this job. (Little did they know that the School Counselor's job came with its own brand of low pay and bullshit.) The fact of the matter is, there is an "us against them" mentality that affects both staffs.

It goes like this:

The House staff knows best because we are on the front lines and are experts on the kids' behavior. We know all their interpersonal dynamics, from peer interaction to family abuse. What these kids really need is tough behavior modification because nobody ever took the time to teach these kids discipline.

vs.

The School staff knows best because they are on the front lines of the kids' educational development. Kids' misbehavior can be traced to obvious learning disabilities. What these kids really need are chances, because nobody ever gave them one when they really needed it.

I have seen many House staff switch jobs and seemingly overnight, treat me like I was the enemy, like my ideas were crazy. I have also seen School staff come and work up at the houses and behave similarly to their ex-mates. The truth is, the Administrative staffs of both organizations hold each other in contempt. This attitude naturally trickles down to the front line staff who take it out on each other. I like to hang around the School staff for a while to get a sense of what is going on down at the school, what the staff are thinking and doing with the kids.

As I walked the kids to their classrooms, I spent a couple of minutes checking in with the teachers and the teachers' aides before I walked on down to the counselor's office. By the time I got there, fat-ass Rusty was already in trouble, huffing and puffing about some injustice his teacher had perpetrated against him. He was talking to Jamaal, an ex-counselor who had about as much experience as me, someone I respect, and a guy who also sees that so much of our jobs rest on the exercise of ridiculousness.

Jamaal says to Rusty, "Now Rusty, just because your teacher is a fucking bitch doesn't mean you can't stay in school."

"Well that's what she is, and she knows it," puffs Rusty.

"Well, yeah, she definitely knows it now that you screamed it to her in class..."

"Oh no! You're definitely coming back up to the house and you're gonna get tons of consequences," I say, "Let's go."

Jamaal winks at me. "Oh my gosh, did you hear that? That's Stokie Jaye talking, he don't mess around. You know why? Cuz he's old and crusty..."

"That's right, Jamaal knows, too. I was already this way when me and him built this school 30 years ago, back in our hippie days. Jamaal had an afro out to here and I had long hair, a beard and long robe, lotta people mistook me for Jesus, right Jamaal?"

"Mmm, hmm."

Rusty perked up. "You guys built this school?"

Jamaal said, "In fact, back then Stokie's rap name was 'Stokie JJ Hippie Jeeze' becuase he looked so much like Jesus."

I said, "But everybody knows Jesus was a black man."

Jamaal's cheeks were puffy, suppressing laughter. "I wouldn't want to be up in the house with him. If I were you, I'd rather apologize to your teacher and stay down here..."

"Here it comes," I said.

"...Now I'm gonna give you just one more chance..."

I started out the door. "Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Jaye," said Jamaal.

"As always. Let me know when his thirty last chances run out, I'll be back down to pick him up."

By the time I had returned to the house, I was about a half an hour late for the staff meeting. As I entered, I noticed that the chemicals were still really strong, even with the fan on. Around the table sat 5 counselors, the House Supervisor Yolanda, the therapist Sam, and Mel, who was giggling and pointing at Miyako. Miyako held a paper towel over her mouth and nose and was sitting next to the laundry room door, which was slightly open. (I assumed correctly that Mel's magic potion sat bubbling behind the door.) Also in attendance was Janette Stankin, the Clinical Supervisor. I couldn't tell which was worse; Mel's cleaning potion or Janette's perfume. Whenever she walked into a room, it seemed like you were being smashed over the head with a bottle of Chanel #5. I felt like asking Miyako if I could borrow her paper towel.

Yolanda said to me as I found a seat next to Mel, "Lots of kids in crisis at school, I guess."

"Oh, always. Lucky thing I was there."

She said, "Just to catch you up, we were just talking about Michael and some of the frustrations we feel."

"Oh, okay. Did we already talk about 'warehousing?'"

My comment hit its target squarely as Janette visibly tensed up.

"Well, no, nobody actually used that term. Maybe there's something you'd like to say about it?"

I said, "Okay. Well it just seems to me that we've done about all we can with Michael. We are not equipped to deal with developmental disabilities; we deal with emotional problems. He needs to go to a facility like the Regional Center that deals with DD. In the mean time, he gets bigger and stronger, has more sex with his peers and assaults more staff. And since he can't understand our program, we just wind up appeasing him all the time so he doesn't get mad." I turned to Janette, "And I guess since his county just keeps paying, we just take the money and store him here, like a warehouse."

Mel elbowed me, trying to make me laugh at Miyako. Janette was mad at me.

"Stokie, you know very well that we've been trying to get Michael to the Regional Center for months. They just won't take him because he's not developmentally disabled enough. They just turned down our most recent application. His social worker is happy with the job we're doing with him and is satisfied that Michael is placed well here."

I said, "So as long as the county is paying, we're happy to let him get bigger, have sex and hit people. Okay, I just wanted to be able to tow the company line."

"You sound so bitter," said Janette.

"Yup, that's me, Mr. Bitter. I should probably be more happy about warehousing kids. You know what? I can be happier! Is this a bad time to ask for a raise? I figure with all that money we're getting from the county, we could all be getting paid more. May my teammates and I please all have raises?"

Janette got up to leave. "Yolanda, thank you for your time and good luck with your staff."

I turned to my teammates, "Sorry guys, I gave it my all."

Miyako also got up and quickly shuffled outside for some air. As the meeting broke up, I went in to the laundry room with Mel.

"Mel, what the fuck is in this shit?" Mel was still giggling as he opened the chemical closet.

"Man, I just threw in everything," he said as he took out bottles of cleaner and put them on the washing machine. "Little of this, little of that."

I looked at the cleaners. Ajax, Simple Green, bleach, Windex, Pine-Sol, Mr. Clean with ammonia...

My jaw dropped. "Dude! What the fuck is wrong with you? This shit can kill you! Didn't you read the label?" I realized what a stupid question that was, of course he didn't read the fucking label. "Mel, dude, if you mix bleach and ammonia it makes a poisonous gas that kills people. For real, it kills people."

"How the fuck I'm supposed to know that? All the labels are in Spanish."

"That's so people's cleaning ladies don't die when they clean their house." I dumped the potion out through the back door. "Course, if you killed Miyako, that woulda made Yolanda's day. God damn, Mel!"

I came back into the kitchen and there, standing with Miyako, was Pete Post. He had three circle shaped Band-Aids stuck on his face where he shaved over his adult acne.

"Greetings, Stokie. It seems as though there was an intervention this morning which involved you and Brian. Apparently, some questionable techniques were used. I would like you to accompany me so that I may glean some more information."

As I walked with Pete to the Supervisor's office, I thought to myself, "If I still have a job when this shit is over, I'm gonna kill that Miyako. This is what I get for trying to help."

Entry 33: I Read The News Today, Oh Boy

I have been working here long enough to have the dubious privilege of reading about some of our former charges in the newspapers. And as you can imagine, the stories are never for something good like winning awards, getting elected or making a pro sports team. So you can imagine my reluctance when, as I walked into work one day, one of the a.m. staff members held up the local paper and asked, "Have you seen this yet?"

I really dreaded what I was about to read. Thoughts came rushing in of the other newsworthy events that our "graduates" have committed during my career here:

- A black kid from the worst part of the ghetto was placed here, swore for 4 years that when he was discharged he was going right back home to sell crack. He said he wanted to get rich just like his big brother. The newspaper reported that he was shot to death right outside of his house a week after he was discharged.

- Another kid, placed with us after being sexually abused for years by his mother and sister wound up strangling his sister to death after leaving us.

- Another kid was found drowned in a creek with toxic levels of meth in his blood.

- Another kid tied up an 84-year-old woman and beat her with her own cane until she told him where her credit cards were. He was arrested an hour later at the mall trying to buy cd's with her card.

So, yes, it was with some trepidation that I picked up the paper to read "Two Group Home Boys Hold Off Police for Hours, Suffer Hypothermia in Lake."

I sighed in relief.

"Well that's not too bad," I said. I looked around the house. "Am I to assume that Michael and Francis will be needing to be picked up from the Hall?"

"Francis will, but Michael's still at the hospital. You have to pick him up there."

"Well, fine. But how the hell did they get out to the lake?" I wondered.

"They slipped out last night right after dinner. We had half the campus looking for them. We searched
everywhere: the freeway, the school kitchen, Toys R Us, everywhere. Maybe when you see them, you can ask them."

"Yeah, maybe I'll just work some of that Stokie Jaye magic." And that's just what I set off to do.

Wouldn't be a good idea to pick them both up at the same time. Unless you have several staff with you, the kids will get right back into their bravado routine and probably try to escape or do something equally as stupid. I decided to first pick up Francis at the juvenile hall we call "The Country Club," bring him back to the house, then go get Michael at the hospital.

I checked in at the front desk of the hall, and waited until they led Francis out. As he opened the door and limped toward me, I could see that he was caked in mud, clothes ripped beyond use. He was wearing county issued paper slippers.

"Where are your shoes?" I asked.

"Fuck if I know. If I had them I'd still be running. 'Stead these fuckin' neeger cops made me lose 'em."

The guard, a large man of the "neeger" persuasion stepped up. "Apparently, your boy here lost them in the mud on the shores of the lake. That mud there is about 4 feet deep."

"The bastard cops made me lose 'em and now I got this!" He took off his paper wrap and showed me cut and bloodied toes and soles.

"Oh yeah, and them reeds can be awful sharp can't they, boy?"

"Shut the hell up neeger wardie bitch, before you get sued!"

I could see that Francis might not be in the best mood to talk about the previous night's exploits. In the van, I decided to give it a try, "Gosh Francis, I'm glad you're okay. The whole campus was looking for you last night. You guys are really good AWOLers. How'd you do it?"

Francis liked it when you told him he was good at something. "Hee! I knew it. Everyone was looking all over the place, so we didn't go nowhere. You know that metal circle down by the school basketball courts?"

"You mean the sewer?"

"Yeah, that. We got in it and just stayed there til morning. Then we walked to the lake."

"So you two spent the night in the sewer."

"Whoa guy, why do you have to say it like that? I'm not like that. And I'm not gay, either. Plus, we really fucked up those cops. That'll teach them not to mess with us."

"Oh God, what did you do?"

"Well they seen us on the road near the lake and they tried to get us, but we had too many rocks and then we ran through all them bushes -- that's where we lost our shoes--and they couldn't see us and we got in the lake."

"Wait a minute. You guys can't swim, what do you mean you got in the lake?"

"We walked out up to our noses so we could still breathe and they couldn't do nothing cuz they couldn't get in the water. They're all bitches, anyway. That's why they got that fuckin' boat, cuz they're bitches."

"Oh Jesus Francis! You mean they had to get a boat?"

"And a fuckin' helicopter cuz the boat couldn't see us neither. That'll teach them not to mess with us hoo-riders. It was only cuz the helicopter seen us that they grabbed us with the boat. But I'm calling Johnnie Cochran and suing cuz that's police brutality and they can't put hand cuffs on you and throw you on the floor of a boat."

I thought about that for a while, taking it all in.

"Francis?" I said, staring very seriously.

"Now what?"

"You know I already talked to Michael," I lied.

"Goddammit! We didn't have sex in the sewer! Plus it wasn't my idea. He's the one who said it already smelled like shit. Besides, I ain't no fag. Just because you have sex with boys doesn't mean you're a fag, goddammit!"

"Never said you were, Francis. Never said you were."

Entry 32: Springtime is for Lovers

The organization is in big trouble, financially. Like many non-profits, we have had to put up with our share of budget cuts, salary freezes and program reorganizations. We are situated on a huge chunk of protected, sensitive land which has been the center of a protracted battle between environmentalists and our own administration who want to sell parts of the property to developers to increase revenues. This is a fight that existed before I ever got there and will probably continue long after I am gone. For all I know, this issue may never be resolved.

In any case, one of the ways the organization has managed to generate income and services is through leasing out office and storage space at low cost to sympathetic and beneficial companies, like a certain contracting/construction company who then performs upgrades and improvements to our physical plant at no cost. So while we staff continue to struggle through cuts in health benefits and overtime pay, we continue to see nice new gardens, white fences and newly paved roads sprout up all around the campus.

The crowning jewel is the restoration of a century old arboretum and courtyard, complete with fountain, fresh grass and cobblestones. Since we are a religiously affiliated organization with an adjoining chapel (freshly painted), many marrying couples hold a reception, for a fee, in the rejuvenated courtyard.

One such event happened to be taking place on a lovely spring morning when Michael (who you remember saw an image of Blue Boy in the wall) and Francis, another marginally developmentally delayed boy who incidentally looks just like Jughead from the Archie comic books, slipped out of the house, unnoticed.

Michael and Francis have had a history of secret, sexual escapades. Once, Francis was caught sitting on Michael's lap, pants off, in Michael's laundry basket. They said they were playing "Santa Claus." Another time, Francis attempted to get Michael in trouble by revealing what a lying cheat Michael really is. He told me, "I hate Michael. He's such a liar. He said he'd give me four batteries for my radio if I booty-bumped him. But when I did, he only gave me two, the bitch."

A hillside overlooks the courtyard where the wedding party was taking place. Michael and Francis decided to use this as a staging area to launch their attack. At first it started as a raid to steal food and provisions for a longer and, no doubt, sexually motivated escape to calmer environs, but when the caterers caught them in the back of their van and demanded that they stop eating the pate and baguettes they had found, it became a more serious battle involving larger armies.

The boys retreated to the hillside to recoup the honor they had lost in being caught by a caterer. Their identities discovered, they began to throw rocks and sticks at the lovely couple, as well as a hundred or so stunned guests. Francis began a war-cry of "Fuck all you neegers! Heeee!" When he said this he stuck his jaw out and closed his eyes in a retard-style proclamation of self-satisfaction. Michael ad-libbed his own running commentary, "That bitch is gonna get fucked tonight just like my mama!" all the while jabbing his pointer-finger in his eye to slow the uncontrollable twitch that causes it to roll around in its socket.

They tore branches off the trees and held them out in front of their waists like giant, leafy penises, all the while screaming, "Wedding balls are ringing! Take it all, you ho! Look, I got a woody, get it?" Some of the braver male guests threw off their tuxedo jackets and attempted to scramble up the hill to intervene but quickly backed off when they were hit with dirt clods and spit.

The warriors continued their assault until two deputy sheriffs arrived. The officers moved through the wedding party to the edge of the hill. Emboldened by the sight of the law, the boys defied all demands that they surrender and put down their weapons. The officers climbed the hill and approached, commanding that the boys put their hands on their heads. Michael picked up a large branch and cracked the cop over the arm.

From the bottom of the hill, the wedding party, agency administrators and a half a dozen counselors watched the gentle orange mist of pepper spray rise above Michael's head after it slammed into his face. The cop held the screaming and gagging Michael with his billie-club over his neck.

Francis saw this, interlocked his fingers on top of his head and calmly turned to the other officer, "You mean like this?"

Entry 16: Michael's Day at the Doctor

Through the years I've been working at the group home, we have received several "tweeners," that is, kids who don't exactly fit the typical "emotionally disturbed" model, but who also have some other problem such as physical defects, brain injury or organic "developmental delays." This leaves us with a kid who is not only an emotional wreck but also usually mildly retarded. There are facilities that deal with delayed kids, of course, but the ones who wind up with us are just not delayed enough to have a placement like that.

One such example is Michael, who you may recall spotted Blue Boy in the wall next to the TV. Michael is developmentally delayed enough to not be able to take care of his own hygiene thoroughly, but emotionally twisted enough to blame Staff for problems of his own creation. Michael is another kid who would try to get Staff fired just as quickly as he would eat your famous Tuna Helper Casserole and tell you he loves you.

For instance, he didn't tell us about an ingrown toenail infection for a month. When we discovered the infection, the nail had grown deep into his big toe and the skin around it was blue and black and oozing pus.

An appointment was made to get him to the doctor. This particular doctor is very sensitive to our kids' sob stories and is easily manipulated, usually taking the kid at his word.

He asked Michael to remove his shoes and what emerged were two obviously unwashed and brown stained socks with holes all over them, as if eaten by moths. The stench was instant and overwhelming.

The doctor was horrified, and I was embarrassed that I had overlooked this predictable situation. Michael has a habit of putting on the clothes that are closest to him, regardless of whether they happen to be in the dirty clothes hamper, or ripped up and tied around his action figures' necks after his last tantrum. [Or sometimes he'll forget what he is doing and just sit on his bed daydreaming (or hallucinating, hard to tell) with his finger jammed into his eye. He does this to keep his eye from rolling around uncontrollably.]

Doctor: Oh my God, Michael, what's going on here?

Michael: Staff never lets me wear clean socks like I want to.

The doctor turns to me in all seriousness and says, "Why won't you let him wear clean clothes? Is this some sort of punishment? This is bordering on abuse and I'm going to report you."

Michael began to heave and cough. The doctor asked if he was okay and Micheal just stared, his eyes getting misty.

I said, "Michael, if you want people to think I'm mistreating you, you've got to do a better job at fake-crying. You've got to drive the point home. Now try it again, but this time put more feeling into it."

Michael just laughed and the doctor didn't say another word to me.

Entry 7: Michael Spots Blue Boy

The Legend of Blue Boy already existed when I first arrived at the group home 12 years ago and is perpetuated by our lovely residents. Legend has it that a long time ago, a retread decided to go AWOL (our term for running away), got 500 yards away to the railroad tracks and was run over by a train. As punishment for not listening to staff, his soul is doomed to roam the campus and haunt any future AWOLers.

When Michael was referred to us, we were informed that he may have psychotic episodes and to watch for signs of such behavior, such as him claiming grass is growing out of his palms.

One day I was watching golf on TV with Michael. I looked over and noticed that he wasn't really looking at the TV, but at the wall near the TV. He was laughing. I asked him what he was doing and he just kept laughing for about 30 seconds. Then he stopped suddenly, looked at me in all seriousness and said,

"Blue Boy says he's going to kill us but I think he's just joking."

Then he laughed his head off some more.