The Attack That Killed A School

I was not the only person who saw Penstock attack Henderson. A large and powerful man, he beat the defenseless child in a fit of alcoholic rage. When I pulled Penstock off the child and threw him out of the building, all the others went on with their lunch as if nothing had happened. Later, during the official cover-up, they claimed that I claimed to have seen really did not happen at all. The member of the Board of Trustees to whom I told the story in effect confessed moral and managerial bankruptcy, and betrayed his duty, by saying, "This is a matter for the (head of school) to deal with, because we Trustees have to observe boundaries..."

Thus, in January 2002, began the final descent of a once-venerable 120-year old school. A handful of highly public lawsuits followed over later acts of abuse and hazing. They were all covered in juicy detail by the CBS affiliate in New York City, among other media outlets, using information leaked by the attorney for the plaintiffs. The school denied all responsibility, even publicly questioned whether the 'alleged' events even happened. But the school conducted an show investigation for public relations purposes, the results of which were never published after the lawsuites dropped out of the press. The bad press helped the enrollment drop almost immediately by about one-third, and has never recovered. During all this, the school was reaccredited "with commendations," and a major government agency awarded the school "honor" status.

Now the school is dying a slow death, as it should, given its low culture, but ruining careers and ill-serving students and parents as it goes.

Suicide Squeeze Bunt Odds

Hi Cosmo,

Now, this is SERIOUS.

The Yankees are playing Fenway Park 4 games August 18-21.

I'd thought about visiting my son Patrick then, who is at BU, as you know, and while there see the Red Sox lose 4 in a row.

But the Red Sox website says all 4 games are already sold out, so I thought I'd check with you so see if you know someone who has season tickets but who will be out of town or something, and would sell a game or two them to a Yankee fan from Chicago.

That is a real long shot, like a suicide squeeze bunt, but I thought I'd give it a shot.

JB

Yankee Stadium July 14, 7:05 pm

Hello Cosmo,

The only seats that were available were in the "non-alcholic" bleechers!

(The e-ticket confirmation said: "Friday 07/14/2006 7:05 pm Yankee Stadium
New York Yankees vs. Chicago White Sox Section BLCH51, row N, seats 1-2")

Ha! Do you have ANY idea what that MEANS? Whew!

First, it means that the game is practically sold out already, and it is 3 months away. (Of course, the Chicago White Sox are the defending World Series champs.)

Second, the reason they say "non-alcholic" is because this the place where the routiest fans sit. (These are the cheapest seats..only $12/each! But the only ones available. We would not want to sit on a stuffy 'ol sky box, anyway.)

Real seats, where people are polite and don't have criminal records, go for at least $50/each.)

THIS will be a REAL experience...One that prudent people would NEVER consider...we'll be RIGHT on the leading edge of the frontier of good judgment.

At least it is a night game, so cooler, i n July. And afterward, we can go to all the after-game parties on 125th street! It will be a once-in-a-lifetime expreience...hopefully we'll live through it. JB

My Billy

Message recently received from a parent:

Dear Admissions Director:

For the first eight years of his life, I was terribly worried about my gifted son, Billy. He had undergone endless testing and visits to hundreds of specialists, and he was eventually diagnosed with A.D.W., or Attention-Deficit What; then A.D.H.S.T., or Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Stop That; and, after that, A.D.P.O.Y.P., or Attention-Deficit Put On Your Pants. Finally, I realized that Billy is a Dandelion Child, a term used for unusually bright and active children whose special powers will someday change the world.

Shortly after Billy was born, I noticed that he possessed an unusual affinity for organic play, because whenever I took him on picnics he would eat bark. He also demonstrated highly precocious hand-eye coördination, because at only six months old he was able to fling his dirty diapers at strangers, laugh, and point to me. Before his first birthday, he was speaking in complete sentences, although he was using a complex secret language, similar to Karl Rove’s.

Billy’s early interactions with other children proved difficult, because his consciousness was so much more developed. For example, in the sandbox other children would use their brightly colored plastic shovels to fill their matching buckets with sand. Billy, however, would place his bucket over another child’s head and then beat the bucket with his shovel, demanding, “Where’s Waldo? I know you know.”

I attempted to schedule playdates with other children, tykes who, sadly, insisted on wearing flammable clothing. It was after one such fruitless attempt that I first took Billy to be evaluated by a therapist, a limited woman who prescribed Ritalin, which only caused Billy to become drowsy and disoriented at odd moments, such as when he was hijacking a bus. The therapist asked Billy if he had any siblings, and I remember how his eyes sparkled as he replied, “Don’t you read the paper?”

Next, I enrolled Billy in one of the city’s finest private preschools for gifted children; during the interview I was especially proud when Billy showed the other children how wooden blocks make love. Unfortunately, even the school’s most accelerated programs bored Billy, and he expressed his frustration by crawling around on all fours, grunting and searching for the truffles that he declared some of the little girls had hidden in their underwear. After being expelled, Billy comforted himself by writing a wrenching memoir of addiction, entitled “Boogers.”

A series of other schools were equally repressive, and all I kept hearing was “Billy refuses to sit still,” “Billy can’t interact with a group,” and “Billy covered another child with green finger paint and told her that now she could get a scholarship.” That was when, thank the Lord, I discovered a Web site for the parents of other extremely advanced children, called AreYourPetsLimping.com. One generous mom suggested that I read two invaluable books by the pioneering child psychologist Dr. Irene Morningflower-Sanctum, entitled “Catching the Gifted Child” and “If He Can Poke, He Can Fly.”

These works described the Dandelion Child phenomenon, explaining how a little boy could welcome his visiting grandmother with hugs and kisses and then create a narrative by murmuring, “I’m not Billy. You killed Billy. Don’t you remember?”

The term “Dandelion Child” comes from the children’s vividly colored auras, which are golden and sunny, and which, if you’re not careful, can ruin your lawn. Dandelion Children are so evolved that the rest of us literally can’t understand them, and not just because they enjoy tugging panty hose over their heads and announcing, “Look at me, Mommy. I’m a testicle!” As Dr. Morningflower-Sanctum once told me, as we took Billy for a stroll, “Your son has such compassion, far beyond his years. Watch how he leaves that realistic baby doll on a doorstep, rings the doorbell, and runs away. See the elderly couple reading the note? It says, ‘Maybe this one will call.’ ”

Today, I am proud to report that I am homeschooling a happy, healthy, busy little Dandelion marvel, even if, whenever I try to embrace him, Billy still shouts, “Get off me! I’m not one of your husbands!” As Dr. Morningflower-Sanctum said, just the other day, “Let’s peek in on Billy in my waiting room. See how he’s bonding with my cat? He’s teaching her that we’re all connected, sometimes with shoelaces. He’s an inspiration. He knows.”


(Actually, this is a recent article, "MY BILLY" by Paul Rudnick in The New Yorker of 2006-04-03...-JB)

1st Annual Lake Michigan Circumferential Motorcycle Race

(The below is a message to Tait Trussell, a former Wall Street Journal journalist who writes about extreme events. He lives in Manistee, Michigan.)

Hello Tait,

The bike is all tuned up and gassed. All I have to do is put my raingear in the saddlebags and light the fire.

The 1st Annual Lake Michigan Circumferential Motorcycle Race starts tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM at the Navy Pier in downtown Chicago. The rules say that competitors "may race around lake Michigan either way - clockwise or counterclockwise. All that matters is the elapsed time from Chicago to Chicago."

I will take it counterclockwise, arriving at your place in Manistee, Michigan about noon, since that leg is only 297 of the 946 miles. The last leg will be in the dark, and only a fool would ride a motorcycle through the south side of Chicago in the dark. It will be better to approach Chicago from the north in those hours, where the congestion is much less and the roads much better.

Of course, foolishness is a relative thing.

I hope the ticker tape doesn't get too slippery on Lake Shore Drive.

I figure I can make it in 16 hours, not counting the time I spend having a hot dog with you. I'll call when I get to the front gate of your estate.

John