Lost and Found in the 60s by Paul Justison

Author:Paul Justison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: san francisco, sixties novel, paul justison, unsolicited press, fun novel
Publisher: Unsolicited Press
Published: 2022-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

Florida, 1962

On my way to junior high, my sock kept poking out through the hole in my right shoe. I had to keep stopping to adjust the piece of paper bag I’d put there to keep it in. Should have glued it.

Before Florida, I had to pay attention in class. The nuns at my former school, Our Lady of Perpetual Misery, whacked me with finely honed rulers for mistakes, taking religious relish in each swat—and extra relish after Mother divorced. But in Florida, Mother put me in a public school. One-half of the school was Black one-half white, and then there was me, the one Yankee. One-half didn’t talk to the other, and, for the most part, neither half talked to me.

The geography monitor in first period had a long stick and walked around the room, pointing to places on his maps. I knew how to say the names of some places in other countries. He didn’t at all. Once I corrected him and got a whack from his pointer. Almost every day, he’d give us a quiz. We’d get twenty minutes for a quiz that took even the slowest students fifteen. He’d relax at his desk, looking at the girls he’d placed in the front row.

The bell rang, and I went to civics. Nuns had taught this, too. The monitor was a skinny man with a buzz cut and suspenders. He always read from the textbook, but his voice was soft, and you had to strain to hear him, so I didn’t bother.

After homeroom came recess, and with it came another kind of lesson. I hadn’t known bullies in Delaware. I didn’t have many friends, but nobody bothered me. In stupid Florida, I was the Yankee, and Billy Snomes was my tormentor. There was no hiding from him outside. The library was safe, but they always closed it at recess.

Snomes caught me near a water fountain and backed me against the wall with his beefy arms. Grinning under dim eyes, he slapped me on one side of the face and then the other. He shook himself, but his black hair didn’t move. Then came a punch to my chest. “Shitty Yankee!” Another punch.

I was numb. Nothing hurt. The bell rang, and he laughed and kicked my leg.

My English teacher had a beehive hairdo, lots of bracelets, and a bright yellow dress. She didn’t understand grammar the way the nuns did.

The bell rang for geometry. I sat in the back. Every day, Mr. Jones called on students for answers, but after the first few days, he didn’t call on me anymore. The bell rang for the end of the school day, and I ran to the library, where I found a copy of McTeague by Frank Norris.

I walked home, not caring anymore about my protruding sock. Five minutes along, two Black kids stopped in front of me with friendly nods and introduced themselves—Terrell was taller, light brown, and had short hair, while Melvin was darker and just a little shorter.

Terrell

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