The Four Bullies of Denkmann School

Denkmann Elementary School in Rock Island had four doors, on the north, south, east, and west sides.  There was no rule saying that you had to enter by a certain door, so I always went in through the north door, closest to my house.

I always left through the north door, also, unless I was planning to play with a friend who lived in another direction,or I had a chore there.

Each door had its own peril, a Mean Boy who stalked it out, searching for prey.

1. West Door:  The way to 38th Street, the main busy street of Rock Island, with Schneider's Drug Store where you could buy comic books.  My friend Greg lived in that direction, too.  The Mean Boy was the Killer (top photo), a belligerent blond who took every action as an insult requiring you to fight him, either right on the spot or after school.  He fought by biting, kicking, and punching anything he could find, while the grownups looked on and said "Nobody likes a tattletale."

I don't remember the Killer in junior high.  Maybe he moved, or maybe he exploded in a burst of rage.  But recently, looking at all of the rosters of nearby prisons and mental asylums, I managed to find him.

He's a Distinguished Professor of New Testament Studies at a fundamentalist seminary, author of several books on why the Bible is literally true. His wife studied missiology at a Baptist seminary.

No doubt if I come out to him, he'll start biting, punching, and kicking me again.

2. South Door: Actually the main door of the school, opening onto the ritzy South Side neighborhood.  The only reason to go that way was to stop at Dewey's Candy Store.  The Mean Boy was Dick, very tall, with broad shoulders, big hands and an enormous penis (as I found out later).  He yelled out humiliating names:  "Wimp!  Dork!  Fairy!", and the worst possible insult, "Girl!"  ad its own perils, in the form of Mean Boys.

After we grew up, Dick and I reconnected.  He turned out to be gay.  The insults?  Well, you know, boys only tease you because they like you.

We stayed friends, sharing hookups and lovers, for about 20 years.

3. East Door: A few blocks to Moline, the next town over.  Joel lived in that direction, and if you went further, Country Time Ice Cream.  Its Mean Boy was Duane, tall, dark, and swarthy, with a preference for bicycle shorts.  He would extort money out of you: "Lend me a nickel...lend me a dime..."

Sometimes he stole other things: pens, caps, textbooks (to throw them in the mud), your lunch (or he'd chew on it, say "Ok, I'll give it back," and deposit it back on your plate).

His most expensive theft was my watch:  "That's a nice watch...let me look at it,"  Of course, it went straight into his pocket, and when I asked for it back, "You never gave me any watch!"

I found Duane on Facebook.  His photos include an inordinate number of Confederate flags and MAGA caps.  The guy on the left is reputedly his son at an..um...event.

4. North Door.  It was the back end of the school, not heavily patroled and so the site of all deviant and illegal acts: fights, smoking cigarettes, reading comic books, boy-girl kissing, bullying.  No one Mean Boy took precedence: several roamed about.  Fortunately, home was just across the schoolyard, so I could avoid any confrontation by running fast.  I only remember one major incident:

Bruce was very tall, then, and ugly.  He used to write on his hand, which I found disgusting.  He specialized in sexual bullying.  He would approach his target and say "Lemme see your dick," or else skip the request and just grab.

Today that would be a warning sign that Bruce had serious emotional problems, but in the 1970s no one thought anything of it: "Just innocent play.  Boys are naturally curious."

I usually ran away when he approached, but once in the fifth grade, he cornered me by some rain puddles.  "Lemme see your dick!" he ordered.  When I didn't respond, he reached out and groped me.  To get even, I reached out and groped him (sorry, I don't remember what it felt like,but we were both 10 years old, so it can't have been very impressive).

Apparently no one had ever turned the tables on Bruce before.  He got a weird dazed expression and ran off.

I just found Bruce on facebook.  Wife, kids, grandson, the hetero works.