Case History 1

Subject: Billy Joe R. Age: Fourteen

INTERVIEW ONE

The good-looking blond boy looked healthy enough when he first walked into my office. He was a typical fourteen year old, a little heavier then most boys his age, but that was the only thing that made him different. But, of course, he was obviously suffering from some sort of nervous condition.

Gee, doctor, I don't know where to start. I don't want to make trouble for anybody, but my mother says I should tell you what happened to me last Friday, just before school let out for the day.

You remember last Friday? It was the day of the big snow storm. All the traffic was tied up.

Even my father was late getting to his office, so I had a reason for being late.

Everybody was late that day.

How could you not be?

My mother says that they were even considering closing the schools for that day, but that the administrators were too stupid to make a decision fast enough to be on time.

She says that a lot of parents were real nervous because they didn't know if their kids were in school that day or not.

And the parents didn't know if their kids were getting lunch or if they were hungry or what.

Remember last year? The same thing happened.

That was when the school officials decided to close the school and hundreds of kids all over the city were turned away out of the nice, warm school, and some of them couldn't go home.

Or some of them couldn't even get home, because they were the ones who were picked up by their parents.

So it was a real mess, and I'm just telling you all this stuff because I want you to know that it wasn't my fault that I was late. I mean it really wasn't.

And, anyhow, I only got here fifteen minutes late.

That's because I left the house almost a half hour earlier than I do most of the time.

I like school. I'm one of the best students in the whole school. Everybody says so, all my teachers and everybody. Even Mr. Williamson, the principal, says that I'm number one at the top of my class.

So I get along real well, and this year I'm doing better than ever with my tests and grades.

So I sure didn't want to be late no matter how bad the weather was the day I was late.

But one of the teachers doesn't like me.

And that's Miss Johnson. Miss Johnson doesn't like me because the Coach doesn't like me.

You know the coach, don't you? Well, his name is Rockland Hartford.

And Mr. Rockland Hartford doesn't like me at all. In fact, I think he hates me.

And the reason for that is that he wants me to play football on the team and I don't want to.

But he says I'm big enough and that I should because I am bigger than most of the other kids my age.

But that shouldn't make any difference, should it? I mean, I'm the one who should make up my mind about if I want to play football or not, shouldn't I be the one.

After all, it is a free country. Isn't it?

But Mr. Hartford doesn't agree with that. My father says it's because he's ambitious and he wants to have the best football team in the state and he's having a hard time getting the best team together because our school isn't that big and he has trouble getting enough of the guys to play because he doens't have enough guys to choose from.

But is that my fault?

I don't think it is my fault and I don't think I should be punished for the coach.

But Miss Johnson doesn't agree with that.

Miss Johnson is Mr. Hartford's steady date. They're not engaged or anything like that.

But Miss Johnson and Mr. Hartford go out together a lot, and I know that's a fact, for sure.

And I know it because Miss Johnson talks about it all the time. She talks about it in all her classes.

I know that's true because all the kids in her other classes tell me about it and I hear her talking about her and Mr. Hartford when I go and sit her in English Literature class.

And that makes me angry, too.

Because I don't care about her and Mr. Hartford.

But that is all Miss Johnson talks about. It's Mr. Hartford this and Mr. Hartford that.

Heck, she spends so much time talking about her and her stupid Mr. Hartford we never get around to what we're supposed to be studying.

I know that's true because I talk with kids from other schools. I meet them when we get together for the debating contests, and they tell me where they are in their studies and we're way behind them.

Anyhow, Miss Johnson and Mr. Hartford are real buddies. My father says they're as thick as thieves.

And because Mr. Hartford hates me because I won't play on his stupid football team, Miss Johnson hates me, too.

Isn't that stupid? What kind of teacher is that who would hate one of her students just because one of the other teachers hates him.

And Mr. Hartland isn't even a teacher. He's just a stupid coach who can't even talk right.

He should be a guard in a prison or a drill sergeant in the Marines instead of being turned loose on a lot of kids.

Anyhow, there I was, late last Friday because of a snow storm that made almost everybody in the whole city late.

And what happened? Miss Johnson went crazy because of it!

You see, her class in English Literature is the first class I have in the morning on Fridays.

So, of course, when I got to school late, it was her stupid class that I was late for.

And she almost went crazy!

Like I said, I was only about fifteen minutes late, but that seemed to be the end of the world, as far as she was concerned.

When I walked into her class, I was as quiet as I could be, because I didn't want to disturb anything.

Not that there was anything important happening to disturb, there wasn't. There never is!

Because she was talking about Mr. Hartford, as usual, instead of what she's supposed to be talking about.

She and Mr. Hartford had gone to the movies the night before, and she had to tell us all about the pictures they saw. Boy, was it boring! She described both pictures in detail, and they were both John Wayne movies and they were both pictures none of the kids cared anything about.

But, of course, they were all sitting there listening to her stupid talk. What else could they do.

Anyhow, that's what I walked in on, her telling the kids about the stupid movies she and Mr. Hartford had seen.

So there I was, sitting in my desk before she even noticed me. I mean, she was so pleased and excited about Mr. Hartford paying any attention at all to her that she hadn't even noticed me coming in late.

But when she finally did notice me, she went crazy, absolutely bananas.

She said I was disrespectful of her and all the other students in my class. She said I had no regard for anybody but myself.

She said that if I weren't so selfish and did care about the other students and about the school that I would do everything I could do to be sure to do my share, like everybody else does.

Well, I just sat there listening to her stupid ideas. But what else could I do?

All I was thinking about was the reason for her being so angry and upset just because I came in a little bit late.

After all, the class was at least half empty. I mean, because of the snow storm, most of the kids hadn't even bothered trying to come in that day, and I had, snow or no snow.

So, actually, instead of getting angry with me and screaming at me, she should have been happy that I got there at all.

But no way!

She was bound and determined to work her frustrations out on me.

Still I didn't understand what it was about me that was making her so mean and nasty.

I knew for certain that it really couldn't have been the fact that I came in late.

She wasn't a good enough teacher to care about that one way or the other.

But still she went on and on and on about how terrible I was, and about how I wasn't loyal to the school.

Boy, she sounded like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over and over again.

And all the time she was going on and on and one, I just sat there trying to figure it out.

I'm going to be a psychologist or a psychoanalyst when I grow up.

So, actually, her class was interesting for a change.

It was interesting to sit there and watch her getting angrier and angrier, louder and louder. He face had turned pink, then red, then almost purple as she worked herself up more and more.

And then she gave herself away!

She mentioned Mr. Hartford's name, and that was all it took to tell me the real reason for her going crazy the way she was.

It seems that after the two of them left the movies, they went to some bar or other they go to a lot and they ordered a large pizza with everything on it.

She even had to tell us that!

And they started drinking, too, first beers and then shots of whiskey with the beers. They're called boilermakers.

So I guess the two stupidest teachers in the school got drunk together, especially Mr. Hartland.

And, according to Miss Johnson, the more he drank the more he started talking and complaining about how he would never have the chance of winning a state championship as long as he stayed at our school, because he had no talent to work with, no players.

So what, right?!

Is it my fault our school isn't the biggest one in the city or the county or the state?

Is it my fault there aren't a lot of guys who have a real genius for sports in our school?

Anyhow, Mr. Hartford got more and more depressed and angrier and angrier as he talked.

And, of course, Miss Johnson was all ears and was feeling very, very sorry for her boy friend, or whatever he is.

So she sat there drinking her beers and whiskey with him as he got to feeling sorrier and sorrier for himself.

I guess she thought that if she showed a lot of sympathy for him, he would like her even more than he did, which can't be too much anyhow, right?

I mean, if he really liked her, he'd take her out more often, wouldn't he?

And to hear Miss Johnson tell it (and, boy, does she tell it!), he doesn't take her out very much. At least he doesn't take her out as much as she would like him to.

So, anyhow, it was at that point that Mr. Hartland started talking about his favorite subject.

Me!

It seems I'm number one on his list of bad guys.

I knew he didn't like me, of course. After all, I am the smartest kid in the whole school, small as it is.

But I didn't know how much he disliked me until that day of the snow storm when Miss Johnson told us in great detail about how poor Mr. Hartford was so unhappy and frustrated in his professional career because selfish, greed, unthoughtful kids like me didn't co-operate with him.

She was talking about the fact that I refuse to play football on his team for him.

But, boy, I didn't realize how much Mr. Hartford really disliked me until that day. He hates me!

Yes, he does! Mr. Hartford doesn't just dislike me. He hates me, totally and outright.

Crazy as it is, he holds me responsible for all the failures he's had in his stupid life.

And Miss Johnson is so stupid she actually believed him when he told her it was all my fault that he wasn't doing better than he was.

And then (now get this!), he told her that that was the reason why he couldn't marry her!

Can you imagine that?

He told her he couldn't marry her because he wasn't making enough money as a coach and that he'd never do better because I wouldn't play on his team for him, even though I am big for my age!

So, anyhow, Miss Johnson said I'd have to stay after school that day and that she would have to punish me, personally, for coming in late even though there was a snow storm.

Gosh, Doctor, look at the time! I've got to get going for my piano lessons, or I'll be late!

Good-bye!

And the young, blond boy rushed out of my office. Actually, I was very pleased with what he had told me so far, because I could see that his case wasn't going to be difficult, despite the fact that it was interesting. I found myself looking forward to the next session when he would tell me how Miss Johnson punished him!

INTERVIEW TWO

Of course, Billy Joe R. was prompt when the time came for our next session. That's the kind of boy he was. I noticed immediately that he was looking a lot better than he had the week before. No doubt the passage of time was already working its curative effect. I asked him to continue his story.

Well, Doctor, that same afternoon, just before school let out, Miss Johnson sent a note to me in Math 2 class. It said I should come to her room alone right after school let out.

And I did.

When I walked into her empty classroom, she locked the door behind me and dropped the key down the front of her dress.

Then, without saying a word, she grabbed me by the ear and twisted it hard. She dragged me across the front of the room and straight into the cloakroom in back of her desk!

She said that she was then going to find out how really smart I was.

Me, I was crying. She can really twist an ear hard! It really hurt me, the way she did it.

Why, I had to walk half bent over, she was twisting it so hard. And by the time she shoved me into the cloakroom I was already crying and so nervous I couldn't even talk.

After all, Miss Johnson is a big, strong woman. And she was just about as angry as a person could get.

I've never seen anybody that angry before, at least I've never seen a grownup adult that furious!

So I was really scared. I thought she might murder me or something. No, I'm not kidding!

It happens all the time, doesn't it? I mean, just read the papers every day. People go crazy and start killing people for no reason at all.

And I happened to know for a fact that Miss Johnson thought she had every reason in the world to hate me. Maybe it was unfair and all twisted up, but that is what she thought.

And there she was, standing in front of me, with a big wooden paddle in her hand.

It was about as long as a baseball bat, but the end of it was flat, like the paddle of a canoe.

But it was different in that it had a lot of little holes about the size of a quarter in the flat part of it.

It looked real evil and nasty, and I was hoping that she wouldn't spank me with it.

But that's exactly what she had in mind!

"Bend over and take the beating you've got coming to you like a man, Billy Joe," she screamed at me!

Boy, her face was so red and the muscles in her neck were all sticking out, and I hoped that somebody would hear her screaming so loud, but the school was already empty.

So I thought to myself, you'd better do what she tells you or she might really go crazy and do something really awful!

So I bent over like she told me to, but it wasn't good enough for her, not by a long shot!

"Take your pants off, you little brat!" she screamed again, "I can't spank you properly and in the manner you deserve if you're wearing those thick, wool pants of yours!"

"But...." I started to say, but she wouldn't hear a word of it!

"You keep your filthy mouth shut!" she screamed at me. "You just do what you're told, you terrible, evil, selfish, nasty, greedy, naughty, inconsiderate, brat! You think you're smart, don't you?!"

And then she hit me with the paddle!

But not on the bottom, like I thought she would, no. She hit me in the head with it, right behind the ear.

And, boy, did it ever hurt! I almost passed out with pain and fright.

I could see stars and the whole cloakroom was spinning around and around me like a ride at a carnival!

I was really scared and decided I'd better do exactly what she told me to do as fast as I could.

So I took my pants off. I didn't want to, it was real em harassing, but I did do it.

Then I bent over again, hoping it would be over with as soon as possible. Boy, was I ever praying that it would be!

But I should have saved my prayers!

"Not yet, you little wise guy! You're still wearing your underwear! Take it off, too!"

Now I was really embarrassed. I didn't want to get undressed in front of a woman, especially Miss Johnson.

Why, I don't even undress in front of my own mother anymore, not since ... well, I just don't anymore.

So, for the second time in less than a few minutes, I made the very serious mistake of not doing what I was told to do fast enough to suit the crazy teacher who had me locked up with her.

And she hit me with the paddle again. And this time it was even harder!

This time I fell to the floor, and for a second or two I really did pass out cold.

When I came to, Miss Johnson was pulling my underwear down off my bottom and down my legs.

I tried to grab them out of her hands and cover myself up again, but she started slapping me in the face, and when I put my hands up to protect myself she started screaming again, louder than ever!

"So! You're going to hit me, are you? You're going to strike a defenseless woman, are you? You're too cowardly to play football for poor, dear Mr. Hartford, but you're not too cowardly to hit a woman!"

And all the time she was screaming at me like a mad woman, she was slapping me in the face.

And, boy, could she hit hard! What kind of a defenseless woman was she, anyhow?

But I didn't dare point out the flaw in her logic, or she would have killed me for sure. I mean, even when you're right and you know you're right, how can you argue with the insane?

So she had her way with me, and she managed to pull my underwear off me, clean as a whistle.

"Now stand up! Stand up, you coward, and take the punishment you've got coming to you like a man instead of the selfish, cowardly, unthoughtful bully that you are!"

So I stood up. I had to hang on to the wall to keep from falling, but I did manage to do what she told me to.

"Look at that!" she screamed, pointing at the area in between my legs. "You're already a man! Why, you're even bigger than Mr. H....," but she caught herself in time, and she didn't finish what she was going to say about me being bigger 'there' than Mr. Hartford.

For that's who she had to be talking about, right? I mean, she had said the 'H' of his last name, didn't she, and-besides-who, else would she know about that way to be able to have such an opinion?

"Turn around!" Miss Johnson then said, or scream would be a better way of describing it.

I turned around and started to bend over, but she stopped me before I could do that.

She was running her hands all up and down, around and around my bottom. She did that for a long time.

She just wouldn't stop doing it, and I was real embarrassed, because ... well, after all, how would you like it if a big, tall woman like Miss Johnson was rubbing and squeezing and pinching your bottom?

I bet you wouldn't like it at all!

Well, neither did I!

But she kept it up for as long as she wanted to. She seemed to think that it was part of the punishment or something, but I think she was just going crazy in the plain, old-fashioned sense of the word.

"Look at that bottom of yours!" Miss Johnson said, not screaming for the first time since I had been pushed into the cloakroom by the big, frightening woman who hated me.

Of course, that was a stupid thing to say. How could I look at my own bottom, especially when she had it almost completely covered with both of her big hands, fingers and palms and all.

After all, I've got a small, round bottom, and Miss Johnson has big hands, hands more like a man's than a woman's.

"Please, Miss Johnson, I...." I started to say again, but she didn't want me saying anything, not a word.

And she started slapping me on the bottom with her open hand!

The shock of it almost made me jump!

I wasn't expecting that at all!

But there it was! She was slapping me with her open hands as hard as she could, and it really hurt, believe me!

Miss Johnson is a woman who really knows how to hurt a guy ... especially when she puts her mind to it, and she had really put her mind to it in my case, in particular.

"Miss Johnson!" I cried out.

And again it did nothing but drive her even crazier!

For then she stuck all ten of her long, hard, red-painted fingernails into the tender, white flesh of my poor, unprotected, defenseless bottom!

God, that time I really did jump!

But when that happened, it made it even worse because then her fingernails dug into me and scratched me!

I could feel that she had broken the tender skin on my bottom. I could feel little rivers of hot, sticky blood flowing out of the new cuts in my bottom and running down my legs and in between my legs!

I couldn't help but moaning!

But what puzzled me at that minute was that Miss Johnson was moaning, too, real loud.

I started to turn around to see what was happening and what was wrong with her. I mean, she was sounding like she was in pain or dying or something and I wanted to know what was going on.

But when I started to turn around, she hit me harder than she had ever hit me before!

And that time it was with her fist! Yes, with her fist! She hit me right in the side, around the area of the liver.

And the pain was incredible!

That's the only way to describe it!

It was so great, I had to bend over and hold myself in an effort to stay conscious.

And that was exactly what Miss Johnson wanted, it was exactly what she had planned all along!

She wanted me bent over like that!

"Just you stay the way you are, you terrible boy!" she shouted.

I could hear the glee and the awful satisfaction in her voice.

"That's just perfect for what you're going to get now! Because what's happened so far is a warming-up for the main event!"

So there I was!

Bent over and in incredible pain and my eyes so full of tears of hurt and embarrassment and humiliation that I couldn't see a thing.

Not even in front of my nose!

Then there was a long pause.

I thought I hear clothes being touched or opened or pulled down or something, but I don't really know what was happening or going on because, like I already said, I was bent over with my back to the big, angry woman and my eyes were full of tears.

And then the paddle came down ... hard!

I could hear Miss Johnson groan real long and hard when the paddle hit against my poor, tender, bleeding bottom!

And she paddled me ... oh, I don't remember how long or how many times.

Maybe ten or twelve times. I don't ... I can't really recall.

The pain was so great and all that everything about the whole event just sort of blurs together in my memory.

One great, big, nasty nightmare!

But I do know that the strokes were slow, very slow, in coming ... at first.

Then they started coming faster and faster and faster as the spanking went on and on and on!

Miss Johnson started groaning faster and faster, too.

Then, on top of it all, she started moaning, too!

Why, you'd think it was her, Miss Johnson, who was getting beat with that horrible paddle, not me!

The way she cried put and moaned and sobbed! It was disgusting, that's all I can say.

A whack with the paddle, and a big, long, low moan from miss Johnson. Another whack and then another long, big, deep moan!

It went on and on and on!

It seemed like it would never ever really come to an end.

Pretty soon I wasn't feeling much of anything anymore.

I guess the pain and the shock and the humiliation of the beating just sort of caused me to kind of pass out without really losing consciousness, or something like that must have been happening, anyhow.

I don't know, not really.

Maybe you can help me out on that point, Doctor. I mean, as one medical professional to another, so to speak.

As T told you, when I grow up, I, too, am going to be a psychologist or a psychoanalyst or something along that line.