Back in the day, the social, status quo in the community in which I grew up, relied heavily upon who you considered your friends, and more importantly who considered you THEIR friend. I grew up in a very upper-class Jewish community, but my father was a policeman, and his base salary was quite a bit lower than the most moderate or average family incomes. Wealth was a great factor, back in the day, as to popularity, of course, as adolescents, good looks and athletic ability for the boys was a plus, and girls who behaved as future obedient wives, and were good looking also was an added bonus. Back in the day, the Pittsburgh Board of Education believed that it was most important to divide kids into smart, not so smart and those who should spend the rest of their days learning some kind of skill. It was the 50’s and the 60’s and it was the life lived, and the expectations were never a secret. I was lucky, I suppose, because I had a big mouth, could ooze sarcasm, and was actually nice to everyone. Most of all, I never wanted to be included on the ONLY IN DIRE EMERGENCY LIST, should you contact this person. I survived because I did not want to fail, but the test for survival was a difficult one, and my road to success as in being popular was hard fought. Our high school had an elevator, which supposedly was to be used for kids with some kind of handicap (disability was not a well-known word then), and I was standing with a friend of mine, not so lucky to be considered cool, who happened to have hurt his knee, and who had the OFFICIAL Elevator pass. He needed assistance in carrying his books so I volunteered. Standing in front of the elevator were three girls, all juniors in high school, ALL VERY, VERY POPULAR. I knew I must have been a somebody as they all said hello to me, but none of them acknowledged my friend. The elevator door opened, and the most popular of the three walked into the elevator, held the door for her two other friends, asked me if I wanted to hop on, and when I said my friend could go first, the ringleader said, sorry Gerry, this is for popular kids and not gimps. The word douchebag was popular back then, and all I remember hearing me say was you fucking douchebag, and then she pressed the close the door button and left.
Needless to say, the moment sucked and my friend and I in silence said nothing but waited for the next time when the door opened, and we both rode the elevator to the second floor. I know, I know, high school can suck. Some are entitled to some are not, some are insecure and need others to reassure that the emptiness growing inside their bodies is nothing more than just growing pains. I hated those girls! A half a dozen years later, I found myself working at the Jewish Community of Pittsburgh, having a position where I could actually hire people. It was a difficult time for me, at first being a boss. Lots of responsibilities come along with power, and this hiring and firing was a difficult test of both my maturity and at times integrity. Not sure if it was Karma or just the luck of the draw, but there was a position available for an art instructor, one which I was responsible for hiring. The ringleader of the trio of Elevator girls just so happened to apply for that job. She giggled and laughed and said to me what a small world. She then added we had such good times in high school. I hesitated, I needed to be professional, and I had a job to do, which was to hire the most qualified person available. I asked all of my technical questions, and this person answered all of them with ease. Then, there were a series of interpersonal questions, at the time we could ask questions like that, and my first question was, how would you treat all of the members of the JCC, and do you have a philosophy regarding who might be an exception to a rule or if no one is an exception to the rule. This, now young woman, twisted her long blond hair, leaned forward and said, “Gerr, are you serious, who wants a bunch of uncool people hanging around the JCC.”
Stories like this have made a resurgence into my psyche recently, because of the people like Trump and his wealthy donors who have little empathy for anyone but themselves. I have been sick to my stomach since Trump was hacked into power, and have a hard time excepting the fact that nothingness and emptiness are suddenly so powerful. I am not sure what kind of power I have as an average citizen well into his 60’s but I know I will never stop fighting for the rights of those who are victimized, scapegoated and looked upon as weeds which just need to be whacked away. I will never stop the fight, and wonder aloud, how many other people feel the same way! And then I want them to scream because I will no longer accept SILENCE!
