Bethany: Part IV
I admit I had a problem in high school – I didn’t know my place, despite numerous attempts by various authority figures and jocks to point it out to me. But for whatever reason I just didn’t get it, didn’t get why I should go to the back of the bus, why some guy like Sammy Rosenfeld was better than me or why I should show him any more respect than he showed me. A lot of my fellow Pitt Preppers were "lifers" and had been together since kindergarten, giving the pack plenty of time to develop a pecking order, but when fresh blood was infused things got cloudy, and there were more than a few of us troublesome newcomers who didn’t have any desire to simply fit in.
Now that I’m older I’ve been reminded of my inconsequentiality so many times that I just try to keep my mouth shut and do my thing, but back then I didn’t know any better, and I have to say I admire my former self’s audacity, even though in retrospect it seems a little unbalanced. I was constantly told that some bully boy or other (often President Rosenfeld himself) was going to "kick my ass," for some irreverent comment I’d made, but somehow it never happened. I’m certainly no action hero, but I’m not afraid to fight back, and maybe Sammy’s crew had the same response as that big bully Sonny Liston when faced with Muhammad Ali – I ain’t messin’ with no crazy man. And when the place went co-ed sophomore year there were further complications, more spoils to fight over and even some girls who (gasp) preferred to be spoilers rather than spoils.
Just to prove that all that money my parents spent to send me to private school wasn’t completely wasted, I occasionally managed to learn something in the classroom, and it was in political science early Junior year (taught by Mr. Wrench, who was later to blow his brains out in the middle of the golf course – but that’s another story) that I got the idea for The Red Banner of America.
Even though it was an obvious idea, nobody had thought of starting a political party at our school before. In such a small place if you can get even a handful of people to vote as a bloc and try to persuade a few other people to do so too, you can control an election, and that very day my genius friend Doyle ans I laid the groundwork for the world shaking Red Banner of America.
It didn’t take sophisticated polling to figure out that there was a lot of dissatisfaction among the rank and file with our putative president for life Sammy, especially if that dissatisfaction could be expressed via the anonymity of the ballot box. Doyle and I knew we weren’t exactly presidential timber ourselves, and in typical dada fashion we drafted an outstanding nerd, Bilbo, to hoist the red banner in opposition. Whimsical as our selection may have been, it proved to be inspired – the cool kids and stoners voted for Bilbo as a joke, the nerds embraced him as one of their own and enough other people cast protest votes against Sammy that he was finally dethroned. Our vice-presidential candidate, our handsome, artistic friend the Smiler also won, benefitting from his own attractiveness and the power of the RBA machine. Sammy was probably as surprised as we were, and knew perfectly well who was behind it all, and his already vast enmity toward me increased, although he never was able to deliver that long promised ass whipping.
Senior year, however, the RBA’s slate didn’t run as strongly. Sammy had realized that he was no longer going to be simply handed the presidency, and he went to the trouble of doing some arm twisting (literally and figuratively), his version of campaigning. Our man Bilbo, although quickly hewing his own nerdish path as president, had made the mistake of consulting with Doyle and me on a few decisions, such as the infamous semi-formal dance which nobody came to because it was semi-formal, and we made sure to advise him, as was our wont, in the most absurd manner possible. Besides, a joke is never as funny the second time around.
The power of the incumbent, then, didn’t help Bilbo much, but fortunately Sammy attempt at counter-coup by the emergence of a fresh political force – Bethany also decided to run. She probably won the election outright, but it was close enough that the administration declared a run off between her and Sammy, hoping, no doubt, that the overwhelming male electorate would vote in a reliably misogynist way, restoring their pet Quisling to his proper position.
But they hadn’t reckoned with the progressive policies of the RBA – we threw our support to Bethany, who carried the day, as did the Smiler.
There’s no disputing the fact that Bethany won on her own considerable merits, but I also thought that the RBA deserved at least some of the spoils of her victory. The Smiler, of course, was one of us, but he became more Dan Quayle than Dick Cheney, a wide eyed devotee to Bethany rather than an flint progenitor of policy. And there was only one thing that I really wanted from President Bethany, and I knew she wasn’t inclined to give it to me.
