Frankie and Bobby: Growing Up Zappa by Charles Robert Zappa

Author:Charles Robert Zappa [Zappa, Charles Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CRZ Publishing, LLC
Published: 2015-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Conflict & Resolution

“The foundation of Christianity is based on the idea that intellectualism is the work of the Devil. Remember the apple on the tree? Okay, it was the Tree of Knowledge. “You eat this apple, you’re going to be as smart as God. We can’t have that.”

~ Frank Zappa

Hey, Hey DeMolay

Throughout our time in Lancaster, Frank and I continued to walk to and from school together. One day while waiting for him in front of the school he came slowly walking toward me from the direction of the gym. As he came closer I saw he had a paper towel in his mouth and it was covered with blood.

“What happened, Frankie?”

“What does it look like?” he said.

“You look like you ran into a fist with your face,” I said and laughed but he was not amused.

“Five guys cornered me in the locker room and beat me up. They said it was for going after Mr. Bonner.”

The kids who hit Frankie were from the DeMolay—one of the “in” groups at Antelope Valley High.

It’s a religious organization sponsored by the Masons for boys between 13 and 21 named after Jacques de Molay, the last Grand Master of the Knights of Templar, the secret society made famous in the movie, “The Da Vinci Code.”

The DeMolay in America started in 1919 in Kansas City and expanded its membership throughout the United States under the sponsorship of Masonic Lodges.

Members of the DeMolay are taught seven cardinal virtues: filial love, reverence for sacred things, courtesy, comradeship, fidelity, cleanliness, and patriotism.

I’m not sure where in their scripture it stated that it was their duty to beat the shit out of Frank.

As we walked home, Frank said, “As they were punching me they kept yelling, “We better not catch you again or we’re really gonna fuck you up.””

When we got home and walked in the door, Mom saw Frank’s bloody lip and her face lost all its color. Mom reached for a towel and ran it under the water.

She went to dab it on Frank’s face. He took it out of her hand. He put it on his lip himself. She looked hurt but let him do it anyway.

Panicking, Mom said, “Don’t tell your father.” I thought, ‘Isn’t that great.’ She was afraid of Dad going ballistic even though it was Frank who had just been assaulted.

We never said anything. Dad got home and as usual went to sit in his chair and smoke. While he was unwinding from the day, he either didn’t notice Frank’s face or chose to ignore it.

If Frank had said anything, Dad would’ve yelled at him. He would’ve blamed Frank for what happened. That meant Frank couldn’t tell Dad about the DeMolay guys who beat him up.

He couldn’t tell Principal Brusk either because we were already on the school’s shit list.

Later that night Frank said to me, “They wouldn’t listen to us then, why would they listen to me now?”

Once again, Frank’s cynicism of the world was confirmed: he had to deal with the incident all by himself.

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