Fornits

Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
An open discussion about the troubled parent industry

I guess it just doesnt matter whether its Danny or Art,or any person,so long as you sick fucks have someone to attack.
I dont get it,I never did,probably never will.
I have read just about everything that concerns Elan. Newspapers,TV spots,magazines and books. I even bought the last book from Amazon for 22.00 bucks. Amazon.com hasnt stopped spamming my email acct since.
Personally,all I ever got out of this info is anxiety,and the occsional nightmare/terror.
Yet here you are,every day or every other day.
This has become a toxic waste dump. Always was but lately even worse. Babbletits kwont even show his REAL name anymore because he has been "run-off".
Makes it even less interesting that I dont have Marky to laugh at.
Kinda disapointing to see what Fornits could be vs. What its become.
IF you can get passed the targeted spam,all thats here is the same ole BS of attacking this one or that one
Perhaps its time for a change
Peace out
A

 

Moderator's note: Due to contract issues with Amazon, the book author has requested and the post author has agreed to redact at least 20% of this content from this posting. I'm just doing it cause I'm here and dethgurl is busy atm.

http://http://alifegoneawry.com/

A Life Gone Awry: My Story of the Elan School


Chapter One

1

An early frost killed the fall colors that year. Everything died before becoming beautiful. The Great Blizzard of 1978 had come and gone leaving Connecticut buried in snow and its residents in the mire of an ugly winter.

When the call came the night before, informing my parents that I had been accepted at Elan School, in Poland Springs, Maine, the man on the phone said that I should come right away. I wanted my father to drive because there was snow in the forecast, but the man said that the school would fly me the next morning in their private jet.

There were two things on my mind as we climbed the stairs to the glass doors leading into Danbury airport: Airplane crashes and Roy Sullivan. In the past year jumbo jets fell from the sky like 400-ton snowflakes. There had been crashes in Guatemala, Havana and Bombay, and in Tenerife, two Boeing 747 jets collided on the ground killing 583 people. Those places weren’t very close to home, but in December a Douglas DC-3 crashed, killing the University of Evansville basketball team, and in October three members of the rock group, Lynyrd Skynyrd, were killed as they attempted an emergency landing in Gillsburg Mississippi.

I called Doctor Peck and told him about my fear of flying, but he explained to me the amazing odds against being in a plane crash, and told me it was safer to fly than drive, but I thought of Roy Sullivan, a park ranger in Virginia who had just been hit by lightning for the seventh time. My father looked at me when we heard about it on the TV set. “Sounds like something that would happen to you.” He said.

Bad luck and bad timing were my forte. If there was a wrong turn to take or a wrong time to do something, I did. As the insanity in my head became worse, so did my luck. I was convinced that I was going to die in a plane crash.

The wind blew; causing Mom to duck her head. I lost my balance and my hat almost blew off, so I grabbed the hat with one hand and handrail with the other, steadying myself on the wet stairs. “Wow, I almost fell.” I said. “The wind…”

Mom pulled the door open. “C’mon,” she said, “Damn the wind.”
#
Danbury airport was the size of a supermarket, not what I expected for a major traffic hub. Even the planes were small. In New York City we took commercial jets, and though bigger planes crashed, everyone died on impact. Small planes always went down in icy waters, rarely killing everyone onboard, leaving survivors to suffer before they die.

Mom looked tired. Her clothes didn’t fit, and her hair was undone, which was unusual for her. She was anxious, and rushed me the whole morning, as if she wanted the trip to be over. She was intense and silent the whole day. There were seven other kids at home to take care of and the stress was taking its toll on her. I could see that she felt bad about my leaving, but I could also see that she felt guilty for being relieved that I was going.

As she dealt with the woman at the desk, I pointed to the vending machines. “I’m gonna go get a Coke.”

She paused the conversation with a hand gesture. “Get me one, would you?”

“You got it.”

In spite of a snow warning the woman at the desk said I was going to fly to Lewiston Airport. I didn’t understand the extreme urgency but was happy to be getting away from home. I needed a break from my family as much as they needed one from me, so when Doctor Peck suggested Elan, I was happy to go—I just wanted to drive.

I considered the coffee machine for a second, but my stomach told me not to. I got two cans of Coke and returned to the desk. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.”
#
To Mom, for one day, on March 23rd, 1963, I was the miracle child because I wasn’t supposed to be born alive. The umbilical cord had broken the day she went to the hospital, so, they did an emergency cesarean section, and I was born into the world in horror. I didn’t remember it, but Doctor Peck told me that my subconscious did, which affected me nonetheless.

That may have been the reason for the nightmares. I had them for as long as I could remember, but they got worse at ten years old and I went from miracle child to problem child. I wet the bed until I was a teenager, and dreamed of monsters. I said the wrong thing at the wrong time and got into trouble at school and play. I stole money from my parents and fought with my siblings.

By the age of twelve the monsters in my sleep began to haunt me when I was awake. Though I knew they weren’t real, I saw bloody, violent flashes, which scared me, so I said, or did inappropriate things to get away from people. At thirteen years old I was caught lighting fires by a neighbor, and my parents realized my behavior was more than just growing pains.

The guidance counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists were a waste of time because I lied to them all. They reported to my parents, and my parents made fun of our Uncle Mike for being crazy. I didn’t want them to humiliate me that way. They called him, “Mike Loose,” because he was loose in the head, and my brothers laughed.

My brothers already made fun of me. They called my bedroom, “Wayne’s Pissaria,” so I let the shrinks believe that I was acting out for my parent’s attention. My father beat me with hockey sticks: his attention was the last thing I wanted. But, it was better they believe that than know the truth.

My psychologist, Doctor Adler, suggested, Vitam, a drug program in Norwalk, Connecticut, and though I hadn’t done drugs, I wanted to get away from home. I did better there, and my family seemed to do better without me, so the relief was mutual. After Vitam it was clear that a drug program wasn’t going to help me, so that was a concern when Elan was suggested.

“I liked Vitam,” I told Doctor Peck, “but, I didn’t have anything in common with the people there…they were all drug addicts.”

“Vitam was a mistake,” Doctor Peck said, “Elan is different.”

“Really?”

“Elan specializes in troubled adolescents, and has a ninety five percent success rate.” He said. “It’s like school, with therapy. They have counselors and psychiatrists, and activities.”

He was very convincing.
#
The pilot looked like a pilot, with his official hat and jacket. He was old and sure of himself, so I relaxed a bit. He spoke to Mom first. “Hi, I’m Jim,” he said, and shook her hand. “I’m going to do this run.”

He shook my hand next. He had hairy hands, like the monster in my dreams. “I hope the plane don’t crash,” I said.

Everyone stopped and stared at me. I regretted saying it as soon as I did, and was as shocked by what I said as they were. It was a line from a Bill Cosby comedy routine, so I knew why it was in my head, but something told me that it was inappropriate, and not to say it, and my mind agreed, but my mouth said it anyway.

“Wayne!” Mom said.

“I’m sorry.” I hung my head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said, “It was a joke.”

Mom turned to me. “So, I guess this is goodbye.”

As happy as I was to be leaving, I wasn’t. “I guess.”

“I’ll come up and visit as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

I turned and gestured for Jim to lead the way. We started towards the tall grey doors to our left. I didn’t look back.
#
We passed through the doors, went down a hallway, which led to another door, which let us out to the runway. There, a six passenger, twin engine plane sat with its engines running. “Get in the front seat,” he said, “I need you there to take off.”

“Do you?”

“I can’t take off or land without a copilot.”

He was being nice, I knew, because he would then have no way of getting back, but I smiled and climbed into the front seat like a starry eyed kid. “Cool.”

Jim taxied us to the runway, cleared us for takeoff and took to the air. My stomach felt queasy on the way up, but when we leveled off it passed. I looked out at the ground below, to check for icy waters.
#
The airport in Maine was smaller than the one we left. It was simple and quiet, and there were only two runways. They were expecting us, obviously, because there was a group of people there to greet us—two men in work uniforms, a man in a suit and a mid twenties hippie-looking guy in jeans and a ski parka.

The two workmen didn’t mind me as I got out, but the man in the suit greeted me, and introduced me to Mark. I shook his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Same here.”

When we had my things, Mark and I got into a striped Chevy van, and started down the road. “You don’t have any drugs on you, do you?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never done drugs.”

“Oh, so you’re court ordered.”

“No, I’ve never been arrested.”

He laughed. “Then what are you doing here?”

I shrugged. “I’m a problem kid.”

“Well, if you don’t cause any problems for a while, you’ll be going home in a year to eighteen months,” he said, “Some people go through the program in less than a year.”

“How long can you stay if you like it?” I asked.

He laughed again and turned down a road that looked like it went nowhere. We drove quietly for a while as if he didn’t want to burst my bubble by telling me that I wasn’t going to summer camp. Eventually he pulled into a clearing and said, “Here we are.”

It looked like a camp, with small cabins and a bigger, more administrative looking house. Mark pulled up next to the bigger one. That’s when I heard the screaming. It started out as one voice, was followed by another, and then another.

Mark led me toward the screams unbothered. “It’s not all that bad, Wayne. You’ll get used to it soon.”

“What’s all that yelling?”

“That,” he said, “is a haircut.”

“What’s a haircut?”

“If you do something wrong you get yelled at. Sometimes there are three or four people who do it. It’s called a haircut.”

Only the staff did that at Vitam, and they didn’t scream with the venom these people did. I knew there would be discipline, but this was bad. I already wanted to go home.

What greeted us entering the main house was out of Alice in Wonderland. People were dressed up like babies and Klansmen, and people with signs and household appliances hanging around their necks wandered the huge house as others shouted at them angrily, berating and degrading them. There were people with cups and plates strung around their necks like chunky junky jewelry. Everyone was screaming at everyone else.

The Klansmen were actually dunces, wearing dunce caps, and signs that explained why. My Vitam experience told me that these were punishments, and that Elan was going to be more than simple discipline, so I told Mark that I wanted to go home.

“You don’t get to go home.”

“What do you mean I don’t get to go home?” I said. “I’m not mandated here. I was told that if I didn’t like it I could leave.”

“Then you were lied to, Wayne. You’re not going home for a while.”

He was telling the truth. Doctor Peck and my family had lied to get rid of me.
#
I spent the first night in the dorm of Élan Three because it was late. Though I was going to be a resident of Élan Seven, they kept me there to go over the rules, and do what they called, “Pulling you into the program.”

Mark told me that I had to sing at the morning meeting in front of fifty people. “I can’t sing in front of all these people.” I said.

“You have to.”

I was angry for being abandoned and deceived. “I’m not doing it.”

“You will, though. Everyone does it.”

“Not me.”
#
When I repeated this during the morning meeting I was allowed to sit back down. It wasn’t without warning. “You’ll sing down at your house,” Peter McCann said, “And you’ll dance as well.”

“No, I won’t.”

He laughed.
#
I was sent down the hill to Élan Seven a few hours later. The house at the bottom of the hill had the same yelling coming from it that Élan Three had, but by that time I was used to it. I understood that Élan was just a super strict version of Vitam, and to get along I was going to have to play ball.

The first thing I noticed about Élan Seven was that there were black and Hispanic people there. Three was only white kids, so I asked Stan, the guy Mark turned me over to, why. “Three is for rich kids. We’re the lower class here because we’re from the streets.”

“Why am I here then?”

“I don’t know. But you can ask Danny Bennison when you talk to him.”

“Who’s Danny Bennison?”

“Danny runs the house. All new residents speak to the director in the first few days,”

“Good, maybe he’ll let me out of here.”
#
I was introduced to Danny Bennison a few hours later when the house was ushered into the dining room, as if for a fire drill. The older residents, who patrolled the house with clipboards and did security—what Stan called, “Expeditors”—came out of their office screaming at the top of their lungs, “General meeting!”

We were ordered to sit in the dining room in silence with our hands folded on the table, to wait for whatever was coming. The quiet was harder on the senses than the constant commotion. Finally, my director came out and I knew it was going to be bad. He had a white mesh laundry bag with bright red boxing gloves in it, and everyone froze when they saw it.

He threw the bag against the wall, and there was a thud. Then, he looked at the waiting crowd and at Mike Calabrese in particular. “Get the fuck up here.”

Mike was dressed like a baby, with a bonnet and diaper. He wore a sign that he read every time he entered or left a room. He shook his rattle first. “Waa, Waa, Waa. I’m Mike Calabrese, and I’m a big baby. Please confront me about why I act out and make everyone miserable if I don’t get my way. Waa, Waa, Waa.”

Mike didn’t move fast enough, so Danny grabbed him by the neck and dragged him in front of the room. “I said get the fuck up there!” he yelled, and threw Mike against the wall.

Danny was physically imposing, with a smug face and perfectly feathered hair. He was a dark-haired, moustache and attitude, badass-white guy, and he was good at it. I was afraid of him immediately.

“What the fuck is your problem, Mike Calabrese? I have a pile of incident reports in my office, and your fucking name is on every one of them.”

Mike said nothing.

“I asked you a fucking question!”

“I don’t have a problem.”

Danny turned to the house, and said calmly, “Would you people like to tell him his problem?”

Suddenly, everyone jumped up from their seats and rushed at Mike. They stood inches away from him, screaming in his face. It was angry and bitter, and they sprayed him with saliva as they yelled. It lasted five minutes. When it was over Mike wiped the spit from his face.

“So, what do you have to say for yourself Michael?” Danny said, “You have the fucking audacity to question my expeditor in the kitchen, and then stand here telling me you don’t have a problem. I think you have a problem with authority as well as a lot of other things. You big fucking baby.”

He broke off and looked at the crowd, “Who wants to go in the ring with this motherfucker?”

Hands went up, and Danny picked the biggest guy in the room to have a boxing match with Mike. Mike resisted putting the gloves on, so, Danny had four guys hold him down while they spanked him with a racquetball paddle. He fought, but was outmatched. The paddle had holes drilled in it to maximize the pain. When he shouted out, I turned away: and looked instead at Danny Bennison, who was smiling. “Are you going to put the gloves on now Mike?”

They tried again, and Mike fought again. He was thrown back down and paddled some more. “Ten…ten more…Next… Ten…ten more…Next…” As good a fight as Mike fought, I could see that he was going to lose. It was brutal to watch.

When Mike put on the boxing gloves, guys from the house who were physically superior to him beat him into submission. I kept waiting to hear what he did to deserve such battering and humiliation, but all I heard was, “For being a baby.”

As the general meeting went on, Danny told the house about his prison experiences. “You’re going to prison someday Michael,” he said. Then, he looked at the rest of us. “All of you people are going to end up in prison with attitudes like this.”

He shifted back to Mike. “You, they’ll just gang rape in the shower, you fat piece of shit.” Then, he held everyone’s attention as he described sitting in his cell listening to a young man being raped. “I sat on the end of my bed wondering when they were going to come for me,” he warned.
#
I ran to catch up with Stan after the general meeting was over. “What was that?” I asked.

“That was a general meeting...”

I cut him off. “I know what a general meeting is, Stan. I told you that I know certain things from being in Vitam. I mean the boxing ring and the paddle. What’s the deal with that?”

“They have a physical abuse license. If someone is physically violent, they can punish him with the ring or spankings.”

I didn’t say a word, but he knew what I was thinking. “Wayne, if you just do what you gotta do, and keep your nose clean, you don’t have to go through any of that.”

I sang and danced the next morning without a fight.

Chapter Two

2

The yelling was constant, and there was no way to stop it. If you were going fast enough for their liking they found something else to yell at you about. It would have been pointless if it wasn’t a prelude to the boxing ring or paddle. I did as I was told, and stood silent when they gave me my first haircut.

Though I was there for four hours—and two of those were in a general meeting—they decided that I wasn’t sharing enough about my feelings. It made no sense, but I thought about Mike Calabrese’s face when they beat him, and stayed quiet. I also remembered Danny’s advice to the house about injustices before the G.M. broke up.

“If you don’t like something around here, and you think it’s unfair…rub it on your chest.” That didn’t really make sense either, but his message was clear. “Shut up, and do as you’re told.”

After lunch, Stan took me to his office, and said “You’ll be starting off where everyone else does…on the service crew.” He pointed to a chalkboard, with the job positions written on it.

“I’m your boss, or department head, and George Rees is my boss, your coordinator.”

He introduced me to my peers, Gary Ross, Jane Tolar, and Lisa Groton. “You guys will stick together most of the time because you’re all new.”

My three peers helped Stan acquaint me with the routine. In the morning we cleaned the house, and as we did that the coordinators gave haircuts to the people in their crew. At noon we had lunch, cleaned up some more, and had groups until dinner. “After dinner, we clean some more,” Stan said, “And then we have school, and free-time.”

“Unless you have no privileges,” Gary Ross said, “Then, you clean some more.”

“After snack, we clean up again, then, we carry the cleaning equipment to the dorms when we go to bed at night.” Stan said. “It’s a lot of work, but you’ll get used to it.”

“And, then there are the rules...” Yvette Portella cut in, “Let’s not forget the rules.”

Yvette was an expeditor, and they were in charge of the security in the house. There were five expeditors, and their boss was Dave Winston, who spent most of his time with staff. Yvette was there to tell us about the rules, but Stan did most of the talking.

He explained cardinal rules. “No sex, no drugs, and no physical violence,” he said, then, told us that the cardinal rules were strictly enforced, but didn’t have to. I saw the brand of discipline they used. Gary, Lisa and Jane didn’t need to be told either. We knew that if we were caught breaking one of the cardinal rules we were dead.

“Another thing to know, “Yvette said, “Is that new residents are not allowed to hang around together.”

“But, Stan told us we have to hang out together,” Gary said.

Yvette smirked. “Wise guy, huh?”

“You can be together as long as there’s an older resident with you.” Stan said, “It’s just that we don’t want you sneaking off together.”

“And another big one is splitting,” Yvette said, “If you take off, you get killed.”

“I’m surprised anyone here is alive.” I said.

Yvette punched me in the shoulder playfully. “Yo, don’t make me kill you.”

We laughed.
#
As we cleaned the dining room Gary Ross told me his story. He had done stick-ups, shot heroin, and driven stolen cars. “I was arrested two days out of Daytop, and they sent me here,” he said. “It was either here or Long Lane again.”

Daytop was a drug program, like Elan, but they didn’t have a license to beat their residents. I had heard about it at Vitam, but hadn’t heard of Long Lane.

“What’s Long Lane?” I asked.

Gary put down his bucket. “That’s right. You’ve never been arrested, have you?”

“No.”

Gary and Lisa took turns telling me about the Long Lane School. They called it, “The Farm.” “It was a fucking prison for kids.” Gary said.

“Gary Ross, watch your language,” Jane said.

“It was.”
#
After lunch we had encounter group, which was where we dealt with our anger. If someone pisses you off, when the person screaming at someone is done, you proceed to scream at the person you want to scream at. That person usually begins screaming at you until you’re both done, at which time someone else begins screaming at you, that person, or someone else. If no one screams at anyone else fast enough you can begin screaming at someone else altogether. It was loud.

The banter was vicious. You weren’t allowed to threaten anyone, so instead; they said what they would like to do to each other. You couldn’t say, “I’ll break your fucking legs,” but, you could say, “I’d like to break your fucking legs,” or “If we were out there, I’d break your fucking legs.” Anything, “Out there,” was allowed. It’s hypothetical. “Suck my dick,” was out, but, “If we were out there, I’d have you sucking my dick,” was fine. The context was clear. The people in Elan Seven were angry and wanted to hurt each other.

Gary Ross started the group off by going after Jane Tolar for being a slut. Jane went back at him for a lewd remark he made in the kitchen.

“Fuck you, you whore…”

“Fuck you, you piece of shit …”

“You said to me in the dining room …”

“When we were in the dining room…”

“I’d like to…”

“If we were out there…”

And on it went.
#
When attacked I become numb or defensive. Defensiveness was reserved for threats, so I got numb when Gary turned on me because it wasn’t one. He was, ‘pulling me up,’ about the fact that I didn’t share about my feelings. I didn’t say a word until he was done.

“I have nothing to say,” I said, “because I have nothing in common with you people.”

Donald’s eyes widened at the term, “You People,” so I beat him to the punch. “I don’t mean, “You people,” I mean all of you people…I’ve never done drugs, and that’s all you guys talk about.”

“You earned your seat here,” Donald said, “One way or another.”

“But I’ve never done drugs, and that’s all you guys ever talk about…I have nothing to say.”

“You’ve never even tried them?” Jane asked.

“Never.”

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“I keep asking the same question.”

Donald pointed out that Elan was for more than just drugs, and told us that lots of people had graduated without ever having done them. He didn’t sound convinced of what he was saying. “Talk to Danny about this.” He said.
#
The second half of encounter group was for resolving the problems of the people that confronted each other in the first. The person who got the worst of it was up to the staff member running the group. Being ex junkies they were good manipulators, and pinned the blame on the person they didn’t like.

Gary got the worst of it with Jane. It was obvious that he was attracted to her, but Donald went past that to, “Reverse racism,” which got my attention. Donald wasn’t very intelligent, so he acted like a street-tough sophisticate, but he didn’t hide his lack of education well.

“What’s reverse racism?” I asked.

“It’s when black people hate white people.” He said.

“Wouldn’t that just be racism?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wouldn’t the reverse of racism be non racism?”

Donald looked one-upped for a second, and then said, “You know what the hell I mean.” He continued questioning Gary Ross, blamed him for the incident in the kitchen, and didn’t argue the accusation about Jane being a slut. Danny deemed her that, and that’s all there was to it. We weren’t allowed to disrespect Danny’s decisions behind his back.

Denise McDaniel was the senior resident in the group, and didn’t like Gary Ross, so she helped Donald tear him to shreds. When they were done with Gary, the rest of the group was amateur pop psychology meted out by Donald and Denise like bologna sandwiches at the county jail. It was cold and tasteless, and did little good. I smoked cigarettes and spaced out for the rest of the group.

#
That night, after school, the expeditors came out of Danny’s office, shouting, “General Meeting.”

We gathered in the dining room, sat in silence with our hands folded, everyone hoping that whatever it was didn’t include them. I hadn’t done anything, and yet, I was afraid. That fear increased when Danny kicked the door open and threw the bag of boxing gloves out ahead of him.

Debbie Dole had mouthed off to Donald earlier, so she stood up and walked to the front of the room without being called. Danny laughed. “You bet your ass this is about you, ya titless bitch. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

She slowed down to answer the question, but Danny grabbed her and threw her against the wall. She hit it as hard as Mike Calabrese, had that morning and when she did, I knew we were in the hands of a sociopath. Danny Bennison liked to hurt people.

Donald Hampton was a new staff member. The story Gary Ross told me was that he beat a man to death in the adult corrections center in Rhode Island. He was broad and muscular, and had crazy eyes, plus, he went through Parsonsfield, the lockup unit, so I was convinced the story was true.

Danny said to Debbie, “Do you think that because you’re going home, you can talk to my staff any way you want?”

Debbie was in reentry, which was the final stage of Elan, so she was on her way out the door. Stan told me that reentry people rarely participated in house events and were allowed out to bars to drink. Until the beginning of the meeting I had no idea they got the same discipline we did.

Debbie shrugged. “I…”

Danny cut her off, looked at the room, and said, “Who has something they want to say to this bitch?”

The older residents rushed to the front of the dining room and screamed obscenities at Danny’s command. I stayed in my seat, afraid to get up. Finally, the crowd finished and Debbie wiped the spit from her face.

“So what do you have to say for yourself?” Danny said, “Do you think you can go out there in the streets, with this kind of attitude?” He paused. “You’ll be sucking dick for drugs in a week…a day.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Look at you. Ya look like a prostitute…except for those ingrown tits of yours. How did you end up with ingrown tits?” He laughed. “I guess you have to blow guys that like young boys.”

Donald laughed at that, and said, “Ya know, we’d shoot you down and keep you longer, but you’re hopeless. You’ve gotten nothing out of being here.”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m keeping you here,” Danny said, “You’re a fucking cancer, so next Thursday, you’re out.”

The degrading remarks about Debbie’s tits went on for another half hour, and then, Danny had girls from the house beat on her in the ring the same way the men beat on Mike. When that was over he had the men spank Debbie with the paddle.
#
There was one last piece of business when Danny was done with Debbie. He looked at me, and said, “Get up.”

I did. My knees were weak, so my body shook as I stood at attention. “So, you want to know why you’re here.”

“I was told this wasn’t a drug program…”

Danny cut me off, “It’s not. It’s a therapeutic community for emotionally disturbed individuals—of which you are one. You flunked out of the last place you were in, and your parents don’t want you back, even when you’re done here.” He got in my face. “They want us to put you in a foster home.”

I looked at the ground.

“Time will answer your questions,” Danny said, “And that’s all I have to say on the subject at this time.”

And, the subject was closed.

Chapter Three

3

Niggers—we had ‘em. We also had spics, dykes, faggots and bitches. Danny’s language was foul and he didn’t hide his disdain for any of us. As the general meetings became more so did the list of abuses. I avoided confrontation and thanked God that I was only being yelled at.

Fear factored into every move we made. Even older residents weren’t immune to the insanity. In my first week two people in positions of authority were shot down. They lost their jobs, had their privileges taken away and were sent to scrub floors for minor infractions of the rules.

Shot downs wore shorts, signs, and costumes, and got the brunt of the one on one haircuts for something stupid, like not cleaning fast enough or well enough. They worked when they weren’t eating or in school and did service crew jobs so we hung out with them a lot. I became friends with Mike Calabrese.

Mike had been in Elan for thirteen months and was shot down for most of the time, but he didn’t seem broken by it. I liked Mike because he told stories about the old days; when Alan Frey was the director and the house was corrupt.

“Corrupt...Ya mean, worse than this?”I asked.

“Much worse than this,” he said. “Alan was a sick fuck.”

“Really?”

“There was a sign on the T.V. that said, “If you touch this television without permission, you’re dead.”

We weren’t allowed to talk to about past staff members like that, and Stan was supposed to report us for doing it, but he sat at his desk smoking a cigarette. When Mike started telling the story of the night George White kidnapped a night guard with a kitchen knife Stan stopped him.

“Let’s stop with the war stories, huh?”

Mike laughed, and changed the subject.
#
At regular group, or what we called, “Static group,” people shared about their past. That afternoon Danny was seated in the group leader’s chair so I was apprehensive immediately. He showed contempt when he spoke to me at Debbie Dole’s G.M. so I was more afraid of him than ever.

“Everybody, sit down, and let’s get this started.” Danny said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

There were eleven of us seated in a circle, and Danny told us that we were going to go around the room so that everyone could share for a minute about how they were feeling. I was seventh in line and had nothing to say, but with Danny there I needed to think of something.

Dave went first. “I feel great. I’m doing what I gotta do, and getting closer to going home, every day.”

Next, Denise complained about how hard it was being in charge of the expeditors, and then Jane Tolar complained that she was getting tired of losing privileges because of a few people’s behavior. Gary said that he was okay, but not feeling well, and Stan talked about falling behind at work, and how he needed to, “Dig himself.” Mark Strickland said he missed having privileges. I froze.

“So?” Danny said, “We’re waiting.”

I was bereft of any feeling but fear, but couldn’t talk about that, so I shrugged.

“Well, c’mon,” Danny said, “Say something.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re not going to start that, “I don’t belong here,” shit again, are you?”

“No, I’m just not feeling bad about anything.”

“Really,” he said, “So everything was okay with your home life?”

“It was bad, but not too bad.”

“From what I’m hearing, your daddy was never home, and he ran around with his friends while your mother was taking care of the kids and the house.”

Danny sensed that he had me, so he followed my obvious stunned look by telling the group about the night my sister was born, and how my father was drunk at a poker game when he got the call. When my family talked about it, it was as a joke because my father didn’t usually drink, but the way Danny told it made my father sound like a drunken degenerate. I was afraid to contradict him, and stayed quiet.

When he was done he looked at Yvette Portella. “So, how are you doing today?” and Yvette told us. Then he did Robert Gamble and Lisa Groton. He finished with Wayne Weaver. “So, how are you adjusting to being an expeditor?”

“Good,” Wayne said, “Good.”

“Really? Because you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Wayne laughed, and lit a Marlboro menthol. “I’m just taking my job too seriously.”

Danny followed that with a two minute speech about how he wanted people that were too serious about their job, rather than not serious enough. Wayne didn’t nod or smile because though Danny was complimenting him, he wasn’t. Wayne could feel that Danny didn’t like him, and I could too. It was obvious in the tone of his voice.

Danny picked Robert Gamble to share first, who told us that he was doing what he had to do, but Danny disagreed. “I don’t hear about what got you here. Why aren’t you sharing about that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you enlighten the group?”

For the next ten minutes Robert told us his story. He was court ordered to Elan for killing a man. Danny didn’t show disdain for Robert. I watched his face as he confronted him, and he seemed to like him. Then, he had Robert tell us why he did it.

“Because, he was a faggot.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

“Did he try to?”

“No.”

Danny shook his head. “So, you killed the guy, just because he was a freak?”

Robert nodded.

The group stopped because Peter McCann came through the front door. He was followed by a man I didn’t recognize. They called Danny over and went into the coordinators office. A few minutes later Dave was called in, and a minute after that Dave came out and yelled, “General meeting.”
#
There isn’t a good answer to the question, “Why are you staring at my tits?” but with Denise McDaniel you better damn well come up with one. I didn’t get the confrontation from her because I wouldn’t let he catch me staring even though her tits were her best asset. She got too much of a thrill from degrading guys she did catch.

Denise gave particular attention to Gary Ross when she was in charge, and caught him staring when we stopped in front of Elan Three’s porch. It was warm, and Denise’s top was very revealing. “I’m not looking at your chest.” Gary said.

“Yes you did Gary Ross, now, dig yourself, and get in line.”

“If I was staring at your chest,” Gary said, “I would’ve fell asleep.”

“Gary Ross, just get in line, Stupid!”

We weren’t allowed to call each other names or yell at each other outside group unless it was after asking someone to do something more than twice. The third time you were allowed to call them; “Stupid,” and you were allowed to yell it. They called it a, “Pull up,” which was supposed to be reserved for extreme disrespect, but like the yelling it was overdone and rarely effective. When it had any effect, it exacerbated a bad situation.

“Gary Ross, knock on that tree.” Robert Gamble said.

Usually, a haircut was given inside, behind closed doors, but in slim times there were exceptions. They could give one anywhere and make you knock on anything, so, Gary knocked on the tree like he was knocking on a door.

“Who’s out there?”

“Gary.”

“Come in!”

Gary took a step forward like he was entering a room, and Robert screamed at him for disrespecting Denise, causing a commotion in line, and making us look bad in front of another house. The guys on Elan Three’s front porch were watching the whole time.

When Robert was done, Gary got back in line, silent. “Does anybody have anything else to say before they make us look bad in front of Elan Three?” Denise said. “”Because I’m tired of always looking like the street house.”
#
Inside Elan Three’s dining room there were chairs lined up in rows, and expeditors from each house steered their people where they were supposed to sit. It was quiet considering how many people were in the room. We, from Elan Seven, were placed in the back. It was easy to spot our house because Three and Five had all white people.

Parsonsfield had niggers, spics, faggots, and bitches too, but we never interacted with them because they were far away. They were a lockup unit for the real bad guys according to what I heard. Waterford wasn’t a lockup unit, but it was in a different location as well, so we didn’t interact with them either. When Three, Five or Seven needed large numbers of people to scream and spit on someone we did it together because we were close.

When Peter McCann came out the room quieted a little more. He was big and burley, and according to Mike Calabrese, had hands of steel. “When he yelled at me, he poked my chest with his finger, and it was like being poked with a pool cue.” He said.

The stranger that came into our house with Peter was Marty Kruglick, the director of Elan Five. He stood next to Peter and Danny was to his right. Elaine Eisenberg was in the corner, on the stage behind them.

“So, we’re here to greet Elaine back,” Peter said, He turned to the two expeditors watching her. “Get her over here.”

I met Elaine when I was at Elan Three overnight. She was perky, had a pretty face, and was nicely dressed, but when she stood up I could see she had been through a rough time. Her hair and clothes were disheveled and she was dirty.

The people from Elan Three started to grumble and Peter sensed it, so, he turned to them. “Who wants to welcome Elaine back?”

They didn’t wait for her to get off the stage. Everyone rushed up onto it and surrounded her. Residents from my house and Elan Five joined in, but I didn’t. Most of us didn’t. We were the house at the bottom of the hill, so most of us didn’t qualify.

When they were done, Marty took over. “You know what I wanna know,” he said, “I wanna know how the fuck you got all the way to California…How did you pull that off?”

Elaine didn’t say anything.

“I asked you a question.”

She shrugged. “I hitchhiked.”

“You hitchhiked?” Marty said. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah” He mimicked her.

Peter cut in. “You seriously expect us to believe that you got from Maine to California with your thumb alone?”

Danny laughed at that.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Marty laughed. “Bullshit,” he said, “Gas, grass or ass, no one rides free. And, you only had your ass with you when you left here.”

“Well, I didn’t do that.”

“C’mon,” Marty said. “You didn’t suck dick for rides?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

It went on for twenty minutes. Marty did his best to cajole Elaine into admitting that she had sex for rides like a truck stop hooker, but she stuck to her story that people were nice to her. When Peter and Marty knew they weren’t going to get her to say what they wanted, they prompted the crowd to charge her once more.

Marty wouldn’t let it go. “So, who picked you up?”

“Truck drivers, mostly.”

Marty had an evil look in his eyes. I was convinced that Elaine was telling the truth, as were most of the people in the room, but he wanted something and wasn’t going to stop until he got it. “So, you expect us to believe that they drove you around out of the kindness of their hearts?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a fucking liar…Who wants to go in the ring with her?”

For two hours Elaine stuck to her story as Marty had her spanked with the paddle and yelled at and spit on. The physical abuse was bad, but the filth that came out of Marty’s mouth made it worse. He wanted her spirit. He pushed to get something sexual out of Elaine like he was appeasing a sexual fantasy in public, and when it didn’t work he got angry. Eventually, he wore her down and forced her to say that she was raped, and that the man who did it defecated on her when he was done.

The crowd lost some of its vigor when it was clear that she was saying she was raped to stop the abuse, but they deadpanned when he made he say that she was shit on. They were less venomous when they went up to yell, and Marty could sense that he was losing them, so, he went on to what costume she would be wearing and what her punishment would be. When it was over none of us spoke about it, which was rare after a general meeting.
#
School made no sense. We were all lumped into the same grade no matter age or education, for two hours a night. I didn’t mind the short day because the less chance of getting in trouble in school the better. Acting out there was dealt with more severely than normal.

During second period I raised my hand.

“Yes,” Mister Dionne said.

“May I use the bathroom?”

“Sure,” he said, “but, use the one in the expeditor’s office… Miss Russell is using the one in the back.”

Miss Russell was my favorite teacher. She had a pretty, freckled face, and a body like a porn star. It was hard to see because she wore conservative clothes, but it was there. She was done, I knew, because I could hear her voice in the class in the living room. I wanted the solitude of a locked door so I went to the bathroom in the back. I realized that it wasn’t her voice when I opened the door and she stood there with her blouse open, fixing her brassiere.

“Wayne!”

“I’m sorry.”

She covered herself, but it was too late—I had seen it all. Her initial shock wore off, so she looked out the door to see if anyone else had seen. There was no one in the back room, so she looked at me. “Get out of here before someone catches you.”

I turned. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, and left.
#
After the filth I heard at Elaine’s general meeting, I thought my dick would never get hard again, but Miss Russell cured me. That night, when we were in the dorm, and the lights were out, I thought of her tits and masturbated.

Jerking off was tricky to get away with in a room with four guys, and though everyone said it was normal it was treated like a sin, so I needed to be careful. I checked the door, and then looked to my left at Matt Brennan, and stopped.

He smiled, because he was looking at me and doing the same thing, like we were doing it together. He was a fag.

Chapter 4

4

March was bitter cold and it snowed almost every day, but the worst was the wind. It drove the snow sideways and intensified the cold making it almost unbearable to be outside. By the middle of the month I was relegated to shoveling the path from the house to the dorm because Danny took an interest in me.

I liked Vitam in spite of the fact that I didn’t fit in because people liked me and didn’t treat me like a kid. They included me in things and didn’t make fun of me. I could have left anytime I wanted, but didn’t. The good times ended when I was introduced to Kip Neville.

Kip was admittedly gay, and confronted the guys about homosexuality in group all the time. I didn’t like him because he enjoyed it. He sensed that and did his worst to try and get me to admit that I had homosexual thoughts. I hadn’t, but Kip didn’t believe me and was deliberately mean to me. In return I deliberately pissed him off until I was thrown out.

The question came up in a group that Danny was running, and if Elan was the therapeutic community Doctor Peck said it was I might have been willing to share what was really wrong with me, but Danny was never going to hear it. Because of the torture Kip put me through at Vitam I told the group that I had thoughts but was straight. Danny asked if I had ever had sex with a guy, and I told him that I hadn’t, but he said, “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t either,” Robert Gamble said. “I see the way you look at me in the shower.”

“What are you talking about?” I said. “I never looked at you in the shower.”

“Oh, yes you did. I knew you were a faggot the second I laid eyes on you.”

“Now, you’re just being stupid.”

Robert asked Danny to change to an encounter group because he had to get his anger out about the incident. Danny agreed, and Robert unloaded on me. I sat back and laughed.

Danny stopped him. “You’ve never had sex with a guy?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

Robert continued with his tirade, and after, Danny told the group that he wanted me to be confronted day and night about my sexuality. Then, he looked at me. “Your life is going to be a living hell until you start telling the truth around here.”

“I am telling the truth.”

“Y’know what? Just shut the fuck up until you’re ready to cop to the truth.”

After group I was told to knock on the coordinator’s office door and received a haircut for being in denial about my sexuality. That night I got another, and in the morning I got two more. In encounter group the next day Robert went after me again, but I didn’t respond. During the second half of the group I was confronted again about being gay, and I denied it again. Donald called me a liar.

“I’m not here for being gay.” I said.

“Then, what are you here for?” He asked.

“I don’t know…I really don’t know.”

“You’re not going to tell me that you don’t
belong here, again, are you?”

“No,” I said, “I’m telling you that I’m not gay.”

“You’re a fucking liar.”

He spent the entire second half of the group confronting me but I wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. As he went on I could feel the rest of the people in the group start to turn on me. Jane and Gary told me that they didn’t believe me, and Robert confronted me with rage. “C’mon, Wayne Kernochan, you’re a fucking faggot. Why don’t you admit it?”

“Because, you’re wrong.”

Donald interrupted. “So, you’re saying, Danny is wrong.”

That was a loaded question because that was exactly what I was saying, but there was no way I could say that. Donald was a good manipulator, but I was better than him. “I’m not saying anything of the sort.”

“Then, you’re saying he’s right.”

“I’m not saying anything about Danny while he’s not in the room…That’s against the rules.”

“Okay then, I’ll go get him.”

“Go ahead.”

Danny was busy, so Donald continued without him until the end of the group. When it was over I still hadn’t said what they wanted and could see that my fellow residents were getting frustrated by my defiance.
#
Days went by, and Stan pushed me to tell Danny what he wanted to hear. “You’re not going anywhere until you do,” he said, “So why don’t you get it over with?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“So?”

“Sew buttons.”

“Sew buttons?” He said. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, took a puff of his cigarette and said, “Don’t you at least want to smoke again?”

Danny pulled my smoking privilege for, “Lollygagging in the kitchen,” but that wasn’t why he did it. I was the only one doing anything when he walked in. He did it to torture me. I could see the torment wasn’t going to end until I told him that I had sex with a man.

“Yeah, I want to smoke again.”

“So, say it.”

“No.”

He laughed, shook his head again and sat down. He opened his notebook, signifying that we were done talking.

#
Promotions were constant because Danny shot so many people down. His hair trigger caused him to have to promote people who had only behaved themselves for a short time. It didn’t matter because he would just shoot them down again. Pat Carlson had been shot down, promoted to department head and shot down in the first three weeks I was there.

Mike Calabrese greeted me in the dining room without his costume, “Hey there, fellow service crew member.”

“Wow,” I said, “Cool for you.”

“Danny said if I behave myself for a while, I’ll be getting out of here in six months or so.”

“Even better.”

“C’mon,” he said, “let’s go have a smoke.”

The front porch was open air, so the March wind was unobstructed, making it excruciating. Most people smoked inside the house because of the cold but Mike and I liked it because of the serenity. The windows muffled the screaming inside the house.

Outside, Mike said, “Don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You’re going to be here for two years because that’s what the state pays for no matter what, so don’t.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face,” he said. “When they say, “Do your thing,” they mean, “Do our thing.” Tell Danny what he wants to hear and get it over with.”

He went to the window to see if anyone was listening from the door. “You don’t want to do your time here the way I did, believe me.”

“Ya know what. I’ve never been a big fan of, “Do what I say, not what I do,” so I really don’t want to talk about it.” I said.

“I’m only looking out for you.”

“I know.”

“It’s only going to get worse.”

I knew that too, but didn’t care. As afraid as I was of Danny there were limits to what I could take, and saying I had sex with a man to appease him was over the limit. Besides, there was more to consider—like Robert Gamble.

Where I grew up in New York City, murder wasn’t uncommon. Cuckoo Sal—one of the customers from my father’s bar—was found in the park up the block from our house dead from a gunshot wound to the head. It wasn’t far from where his brother shot and killed a man for making a comment as he kissed a girl on a bench. Later, the brother was shot in the head on Cross Bay Boulevard for going after a gangster with a whiskey bottle. It was a tough neighborhood.

Murderers didn’t scare me. A week after Cuckoo Sal stabbed Richie Ebert six times I played cards with him in the bar. I felt safe in the company of killers, but that wasn’t the case with Robert Gamble. I watched him when he yelled at people and beat them in the ring or with the paddle. He had a mean streak, and he didn’t like me, so I was afraid of him.

As creepy as what Matt Brennan did was, I couldn’t go to anyone about it because Danny would pin it on me, I was sure. I kept it to myself, and kept an eye on Matt. After a few weeks Matt didn’t try it again, so I let it go and forgot about it.

In the weeks that followed Danny pulled my free time and activity privileges, and put me outside to shovel snow. The haircuts continued and the encounter groups got more heated as others jumped on the bandwagon. The only time the pressure eased was when someone acted out and Danny had to deal with them, so the horror I once felt when he abused people turned to relief.

#
Danny Broach and Cathy Collins became the new target of Danny Bennison’s cruelty. Everyone talked about how crazy Danny was from the day he came in, but that didn’t stop them from beating and mistreating him. That didn’t stop him from acting out and becoming one of Danny Bennison’s new projects.

Cathy came in after Danny Broach, and though she was perfectly sane her behavior was as bad. I could see that she hated the physical violence but tolerated it for some reason. I didn’t care why because between the two of them I was forgotten.

One day, the expeditors called a general meeting, and the two of them were in opposite corners for breaking one of the cardinal rules: they had sex in the bathroom. Danny Bennison came out with the paddle and gloves, and didn’t waste any time. He grabbed two chairs and pulled them to the front of the room.

“Both of you get over the chair.”

Cathy smirked as she walked to the front of the room. She stopped in front of the chair, and bent at the knees, like she was curtsying, and when she did, Danny came up behind her and kicked her square in the back. “Get the fuck over the chair,” he said, “And, just for that, you get twenties instead of ten.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” She said.

Danny kicked the chair across the room. “Fuck the chair.” He threw her down on the floor. “Pigs belong in the dirt.”

By the time the tenth person was done hitting her with the paddle, Cathy’s pants had dark blotches on the seat.

“What the fuck is this?” Danny said. He pulled her pants down, and realized that it was blood. “Look at what you did to yourself.”

Cathy tried to speak, but couldn’t, and Danny didn’t let her try to continue. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, “I’m going to have to put you in the ring from now until this heals…You’re a real piece of work, ya know that?”

“I didn’t do nothing.”

“You admitted it in group.” Danny said. Then he looked at the crowd. “Who wants to go in the ring with this whore?”

Denise McDaniel was first, then Monica Olen, and then Cathy Hogan. They went in order twice, and then Danny declared her, “Bad, Bad, Pig Woman,” and told the business crew to make her a sign, and a pig costume.

“You’re going to sing a song.” Danny said.

He gave her the lines one by one, and she practiced for us. “I’m bad, bad, pig woman, da, da, da, da…Watch me play with my tail…”

“Swing it.” Danny said. “Swing the tail like it’s actually there.”

Cathy swung an imaginary tail and sang the song she would have to sing every time she entered or left a room. “I’m bad, bad, pig woman, da, da, da, da…Watch me play with my tail. Because it gives me that, da, da, da, da. I’m bad, bad, pig woman, da, da, da, da. I like you to watch me play with my tail. I’m bad, bad, pig woman, da, da, da, da.”

She was contracted to wear pig ears, a nose, and tail, with a prostitute’s outfit, and given a sign to wear. After he was done with her she was sent to the dorm to change, and Danny looked at Danny Broach. “Get up here you fucking retard.”

Danny got up from his chair in the corner and walked to the front of the room. He stood on the balls of his feet and stared at the ceiling. “We’re down here, Psycho boy.” Danny Bennison said.

Danny Broach smirked at that.

“Ya know what?” Danny Bennison said, “I forgot all about you.” He pulled the chair to Danny Broach. “Get over the chair.”

He did, and Danny had the men beat him with the paddle. He didn’t make a sound, but his smile went away, and by the fourth set of ten his face screwed up in agony. Tears came to his eyes. When it was done Danny Bennison put him in the ring and shot him down.

Through the beating he called Danny Broach crazy ten different ways. Psycho boy was his favorite, but he called him a nut job, a mental case, and stone cold fucking crazy. When he was beaten and subdued, Danny asked him about all the mental institutions he had been in.

“I don’t remember them all.”

“So, you’re that fucking psycho, that you lost count.” Danny Bennison said. “That’s sad.”

“It was because of the wine,” Danny Broach said, “It’s always because of the wine.” Then, he told us that he was a homeless wino, and that he got in trouble whenever he had money. Danny and Donald injected jokes, and the house had a good laugh at Danny Broach’s expense. He smiled at one of Donald’s jokes, and said, “One time, I had five dollars and a bottle of Old Crow..”

Donald stopped him. “Five dollars and a bottle of Old Crow? How would you like five knuckles and another round in the ring?”

The smile went away. Danny Bennison said, “This isn’t you birthday party, Psycho boy. This is a general meeting.”

“Yeah,” Donald said, “We’re not laughing with you. We’re laughing at you.”

Danny ended the G.M. by giving Danny Broach a hobo costume, and a sign explaining why, and sent him to the dorm to change into shorts. . Then, he gave the house a twenty minute lecture about how bad the house’s attitude was, and dismissed us.

#
“Danny Broach had it coming.” Gary Ross said to Mike and me afterward. “He’s been pushing everyone’s buttons since he got here.”

“Yeah, but he’s seriously crazy.” I said.

“Uh huh, and he better knock it off, before he gets some real pain.”

“I don’t think he’s sane enough to realize that.”

“The ring knocked the crazy out of him.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Mike said.

Gary shrugged.

Chapter 5

5

Spring brought Maine to life. The snow white and pine green colors gave way to red and blue wildflowers and grass replaced the icy paths we traveled in winter. It was as beautiful as Doctor Peck said. Birds came to wake us in the morning and life rose from the muddy earth, brilliantly disguising the horror of Poland Springs.

On April 25th 1978 Saint Paul, Minnesota repealed its gay rights ordinance after Anita Bryant succeeded with her anti-gay campaign in Dade County, Florida. She was satisfied with taking gay people’s rights away but my director wasn’t. Danny’s anti-gay campaign was more violent—he wanted to beat the gay out of them. His homophobia was loud and proud, and the pressure on me continued.

I was shamed constantly for being a liar and not sharing about my feelings. Danny and Donald got angrier as time went by because I accepted whatever punishment they gave me and didn’t give them a reason to beat the truth out of me. I stayed quiet, cleaned floors and took the humiliation without a word.

Stan and Mike pushed me to tell the lie that Danny wanted to hear, but I wouldn’t do it. Eventually, they began to get angry about my stubbornness. “I can’t help you if you refuse to help yourself.” Stan said. “This is getting stupid.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “This is getting ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is that I have to lie to get ahead in this place.”

“Injustices are part of the program.” Mike said. “You just have to deal with them.”

Stan nodded.

#
May brought more job changes. Mike had behaved himself on the service crew for a few weeks so he was promoted to department head of the kitchen. Stan was made coordinator of the service crew. Lisa Groton and Jane Tolar were promoted to the kitchen crew and Danny Broach and Cathy Collins were taken off shot down and put back on the service crew.

Danny left me on the service crew because he was determined to make me admit to being gay. I didn’t mind because I saw that having responsibility brought more attention to the person with it, and the last thing I wanted was the attention of staff. Danny had replaced my father as the person I most wanted to get away from.

On May 5th Pete Rose got his 3,000th hit as a Cincinnati Red but we didn’t see it because the house had lost its TV privilege. The harder Danny beat on people the worse their behavior became. I wasn’t the only one defying our terrorist leader.

The pressure on me dissipated over the months, and the new focus of staff became about my intellect. One night in school, during a lecture about the ocean, Mister Dionne started looking in a book for the weight of water. “I forget what it is.” He said.

“Isn’t it, like, sixty two pounds per square foot?” I said.

He stopped. “How the hell did you know that?”

“I don’t know.”

He pointed to the page he was searching. “Well, it’s actually sixty two point four pounds per square foot. But who’s counting.”

The class laughed, and my fellow residents marveled about how smart I was for a few days, but then Danny turned my newfound fame against me. Whenever I did something wrong after that, he had me blasted in haircuts for thinking I was smarter than everyone else, and being a know-it-all. The encounter group anger followed the theme. What people liked me for a week prior turned into the reason why everyone hated me. The new focus made me forget about the incident with Matt Brennan until it happened again.

#
There were three people in the house in positions of authority that I trusted. Wayne Weaver and Yvette Portella were nice to me, but I didn’t feel comfortable telling either of them. Mike Calabrese and I had a contract. We talked about the program negatively, and that was a big rule to break, so I trusted him. Everyone ratted themselves out, which was called, “Copping to you guilt,” and if someone had a crisis of conscience and ratted you out, you were dealt with more harshly than they were. I went to Mike the next morning.

“Matt Brennan was looking at me, and jerking off, last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, man, but here’s the embarrassing part…I was jerking off when he did it.”

“Okay,” Mike said, “That’s kinda weird.”

“I stopped when I saw him…I’m not a fag….you gotta help me, man.”

Mike said, “Danny’s been after you, so he ain’t gonna take your word for it.”

That was a fact, but Mike had a plan. “If I catch him doing it, then you have a witness, and Danny has to believe you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll watch from the door, and you get him to do it. Then, we’ve got him.”

It was a strange request, but everything about Elan was strange, so I agreed to it.

#
That night, when everything settled down and the men were asleep, I pretended to jerk off, and Matt took the bait. He started doing it with me like we were doing it together. When he did Mike waved to me, and I sat up. Then, he stepped inside and turned on the light. “You’re a fucking pervert, Matt Brennan, I can’t believe this shit.”

Matt yelled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I saw you looking at him, ya pervert. What are ya trying to do, get him to do it with you?”

By that time Dave Winston was in the room. What the fuck is going on in here?”

Mike explained as Matt protested, so Dave said, “Matt, be quiet until Mike is done, and then you‘ll have your say.”

“But, this is bullshit.”

“I said to be quiet.”

“But, this is a fucking lie.”

“Shut up, Matt.”

“No, I’m not going to shut up.”

Dave took him go into the bathroom, then, came out alone, and told Mike to go up to Elan Three to ask the director on duty what to do. Mike went, and Dave got everyone settled back into bed.

In the morning, Matt was sitting in the corner, and I was relieved. After breakfast, they called a general meeting and we were herded into the dining room to sit and wait. Eventually, Danny came out, carrying the bag and the paddle. “Get up here,” he said.

He was looking at me.

#
I had just let out my breath, I remember, because I couldn’t get another for a few seconds. When air finally filled my lungs, the panic kicked in.

“I said get the fuck up here.” he yelled.

I got to the front of the room as fast as I could. Danny didn’t throw me against the wall, so I relaxed slightly. He didn’t seem as angry as usual.

“Get up here.” he yelled, looking at Mike Calabrese.

Mike shrugged, put out his arms, and pointed the palms of his hands to the sky. “What did I do?”

Danny sneered, “You fucking faggot, get up here.”

Mike moved as fast as I did but Danny cut him off and threw him against the wall again. I was confused. Danny turned to the house. “Who’s got something to say to these two?”

The shot downs were the only ones that didn’t charge us. More than twenty people stood inches from me screaming profanity in my ears and face, spitting into both. Through it, the thing that bothered me most was that they had no idea what they were yelling at me for.

When they were done, Danny addressed Mike. “So, what the fuck is going on here, Michael?”

Mike told the story up to the idea of busting Matt watching me as I jerked off, and Danny started laughing. It was an evil laugh. The house could sense that Danny wanted blood, and I could see that he wanted it more from Mike then me. Danny didn’t like him even when he was a department head.

“Do you expect me to believe this bullshit?” Danny said, “You two faggots are gonna try and put this whole thing on Matt Brennan?”

“I’m not a faggot.” I said.

“Shut you fucking mouth, I wasn’t talking to you.”

I lowered my head.

For the next hour they beat on Mike until he admitted that he had set the whole thing up to get off on Matt and I jerking off together. It wasn’t true, and the crowd knew from the amount of punishment it took that Mike said it to appease Danny. I watched in horror, waiting my turn, like Danny in his prison cell waiting to be raped.

Though I was afraid, I was calm, and considered my options. My father was heavy handed and I was from a tough neighborhood, so I got my share of beatings. There was no way I was going admit that I was a willing participant in what happened, so it was going to be a severe one.

“And, you,” Danny said. “This is how you get your rocks off…by setting up this asshole.” He pointed to Matt.

“I wasn’t the one,” I pointed to Matt. “He was the one that started this…He’s the fag, not me.”

Danny looked at Matt. “Is this true?”

Matt shook his head. “That’s a lie.”

Danny looked confused for a second. “Ya know what—I don’t know who to believe here,” He looked at Donald. “Do you?”

Donald said, “I don’t believe either of them…I think they’re both faggots.”

“Well, people at Vitam have told me that this isn’t the first time you’ve been suspected of being a fruit, Wayne, so I’m leaning in Matt Brennan’s direction.”

“I’m the one that came to staff.”

“Your friend Kip says,”Hi.”

That was what it was about. Vitam had given information to Elan to use against me, and the thing that got Danny’s attention was Kip Neville’s assessment that I was gay. Considering the circumstance it didn’t look good for me.

“Kip was wrong about me.”

“That man has worked with people like you for years,” Danny said, “As a matter of fact, he sounded like a faggot himself…C’mon, dude, admit it…you enjoyed this.”

“No, I didn’t, Danny, I swear to you, I’m not gay.”

“Only faggots use the word, gay, dude. Get the fuck out of here.”

Danny wasn’t happy not getting the answers that he wanted, but there was a ring of truth to my story, and everyone sensed it. Danny couldn’t ignore it. “Y’know what,” he said, “I’m going to shoot the both of you down until the truth comes out. You two work it out. I don’t have time for this shit.”

And that was it. No ring or paddle. I hadn’t seen anyone refuse to admit to something the staff wanted in a general meeting without one or the other, or both. Danny had serious doubts about Matt Brennan or my fate would have been worse.

After the general meeting, I was ta

State Supreme Court gives Emanuel a reprieve
http://http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/elections/ct-met-chicago-mayor-race-0126-20110125,0,458643.story
Justices order his name on the ballot for now, agree to expedited review

By Jeff Coen, Annie Sweeney and Hal Dardick, Tribune reporters

8:55 p.m. CST, January 25, 2011

The Illinois Supreme Court granted a reprieve to Rahm Emanuel on Tuesday, keeping his name on the Chicago mayoral ballot temporarily as justices hurry to decide whether it should remain there permanently.

About 300,000 ballots without Emanuel's name already had been printed when word came that the justices were stepping in, forcing city election officials to call their printer with a message: "Stop the presses."

The developments capped a whirlwind 24 hours in the mayor's race that started when the Appellate Court issued the stunning decision Monday booting Emanuel from the ballot. The ruling sent Emanuel's legal team scrambling to save his candidacy for Chicago's top office as opponents rushed to pick off potential supporters.

Team Emanuel won a round Tuesday as the state's high court chose to intervene by ordering that his name must appear on ballots printed for the Feb. 22 election and agreeing to take up the case challenging Emanuel's residency.

Now Emanuel's mayoral bid rests squarely in the hands of seven justices who will deliver what is widely expected to be the final word on whether Emanuel meets the statutory requirement that candidates for office in a municipality live there for one year prior to an election. The battle over whether Emanuel disqualified himself by going to Washington to serve as President Barack Obama's White House chief of staff has traveled from a chaotic election hearing in the basement of a downtown building to the highest court in the state in a little more than a month.

At a news conference before the state Supreme Court action, Emanuel said he is "confident in the argument we are making" in the appeal.

"I believe (voters) deserve the right to make that choice, to say yes or no, and nobody else," Emanuel said. "In the end, we will be on the ballot and people will have that option to vote."

Legal experts said the state Supreme Court seems to be signaling it will come to a conclusion fairly quickly. The justices don't want to hear arguments or receive new legal briefings from the attorneys on either side of the ballot dispute. Instead, they'll use the material the attorneys already filed at the appellate level.

Experienced appellate lawyers said the court appears to be sending a message that it's not confused by the residency issue, can deal with the Appellate Court's ruling itself and may even have an ultimate direction in mind.

Steve Merican, an attorney who has done appellate work for 20 years, said generally that an expedited review could mean the justices will give an answer in anywhere from 12 hours to a few days, though it's impossible to know for sure. Early voting in the city is set to begin Monday.

"You never know how they're going to rule," Merican said. "But the fact that they took it clearly is a positive for Emanuel.''

The court has any number of options on how to deal with the controversy.

There's a remote chance the court could essentially punt on the questions of law and restore Emanuel to the ballot by saying the Appellate Court had overstepped its bounds by wading into the territory reserved for the Chicago Board of Election Commissioners and the circuit court, the appellate attorneys said. Emanuel was successful at those levels.

But most said it is much more likely the court intends to reach back into the meat of the matter and make what would amount to a landmark ruling on the issue. There's no guarantee Emanuel would prevail if that's the case.

"Underneath this all is probably the worry in the (Emanuel) camp that the court could affirm, with a holding that they are just following the law, and they can only deal with what the Legislature enacted, not what the Legislature intended to enact,'' said Mike Rathsack, a fellow at the American Academy of Appellate Lawyers.

In their appeal to the state Supreme Court, Emanuel's lawyers focused on the idea that the 2-1 majority of the Appellate Court panel that knocked him off the ballot had almost arbitrarily decided that Emanuel didn't meet the residency requirement.

By stating that candidates must be physically present to comply with the residency rule and by failing to say who under state law should get an exemption for government service, the Appellate Court had essentially blocked someone like Obama from returning to Chicago and running for office, Emanuel's team argued.

"Illinois has proudly provided the federal government with some of the most talented public servants in our nation's history," the Emanuel filing states. "These public servants include two presidents (Obama and Abraham Lincoln), who under the Appellate Court's decision could not return to Illinois following their presidencies and continue their public service as elected officials."

Emanuel's lawyers cited six "fundamental reasons" the lower court decision should be reversed, ranging from claiming that the appellate ruling is "squarely inconsistent" with prior state Supreme Court decisions on residency to saying it created too much uncertainty for all candidates going forward.

The objectors to Emanuel's candidacy have called for a practical interpretation of what it means to "reside in" a place for a year before an election. Put simply, Emanuel was living in Washington while serving in the Obama administration and shouldn't be eligible to run, they have said.

Merican said that, as he sees it, Emanuel's lawyers "have the tougher row to hoe" as they try to make the nuanced argument that Emanuel was a resident of Chicago even though he clearly physically lived in Washington.

"It's not an easy question," Merican said. "The majority (appellate) opinion and the dissent both contained good rationale and good legal reasoning. It's not as if it's a slam dunk for either side."

And now both sides must essentially live with the arguments they've already made, having no new opportunity to convince the high court their side is right.

As for city election officials, they restarted the printing of ballots by Tuesday afternoon, this time with Emanuel's name back on them, said Langdon Neal, elections board chairman.

The ballots without Emanuel's name had yet to be dried, cut, separated and shrink-wrapped, and they will now be locked away. And there they'll stay, Neal said, unless of course they're needed after all.

Tribune reporters Kristen Mack and Dawn Rhodes contributed.

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Fred Thompson

John McCain

Sarah Palin

Mitt Romney

Al Gore

Dick Cheney

 :roflmao:

] Sarah Palin.  She's a freaking moron.  I pity those who've fallen for her schtick.

   I pretty much feel the same way about Obama, ntice too that gas prices are on the rise,again...and not a dubya in sight to blame it on. Besides to say that dems/repubs are one less incompitant,corrupt,full of hot air (or shit) is in and of itself laughable. Flip sides of the same goddamn coin...once ya get past that  its all blah blah blah, hype,jive and spin.and of course tha beloved media types just fan the flames.....yep (hey if we keepem scared,distracted and afraid......) so at the end of the day no matter who ,from what party is in office, they are just fucking puppets,everybody belongs to somebody,and usually not costituants either.
 partisan politics as like being asked ...would you rather have rasberry flavored shit, or strawberry flavored shit? ::deadhorse::     As far as the general mood of voters these days Im starting to see an across the board kinda angry comin to the top,where people are becoming really angry with D.C.  Because NOBODY from either party is doing shit, Yeah, change. imho the only thing that changed is the idiot-in -chief. oh yeah and dick chaney hasnt shot anybody lately.[/quote]

 :tup:

I just...

26 men are chosen to participate in the roles of guards and prisoners in a psychological study that ultimately spirals out of control.

http://http://www.videoweed.com/file/4d1676924f9ba