The marbles had been stolen. Despite questioning from his teacher that implied he had misplaced the marbles Jimmy held his ground. He was the victim of a crime. He had won the marbles fair and square, and somebody had swiped them from the coat closet and he was sure it was Peter. Because Peter was always taking things, and was part of the bully team that roamed the playground during lunch.
Peter was second in command. The leader of the bully team was Ted. Peter was a redhead, rarely spoke, and was as tall as Ted but skinnier. Ted was a man-sized twelve-year-old who even teachers had to handle carefully. He had a round face covered in freckles, a cheery smile and brilliant blue eyes. Had he been average size, he’d have been everybody’s pal and the perfect amiable sidekick for G-rated adventure. But as it was, he was two hundred pounds of pre-teen violence looking for a target with Peter as his loyal assistant. Ted was also weirdly strong. In one year’s time he would get suspended from junior high for lifting and moving a teacher’s Volkswagen bug and pinning one of the tires behind a parking barrier. The school had to hire a tow truck to get it out. I know because I saw it happen, and egged Ted on to do it. But back in grade school, I was simply trying to avoid his wrath.
***
For unknown reasons in the spring of 1977 my sixth grade class became obsessed with marbles. That good old-fashioned, Norman Rockwell pastime somehow caught fire amidst “Welcome Back Kotter,” Steve Martin’s “Well, excuuuse me,” “Star Wars,” “Car Wash,” Farrah Fawcett, Rod Stewart, ABBA, KC and the Sunshine Band, “Muskrat Love,” “Happy Days,” “Three’s Company,” “Fantasy Island,” skateboards and Leo Sayer’s “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.”
Maybe it was the time capsule nature of Boise in those days, developing in geographic isolation despite our access to TV and AM radio. By some mystery marbles became a thing. The simple game of shooting marbles in and out of a circle developed into “gyp joints;” miniature obstacle courses where kids tried to come up with clever ways to trick their classmates out of their marble supply. This was partly possible due to the play sand used at the grade school. It was made of large grains of rough silica the size of Epsom salts thinly scattered over clay-like soil as hard as blacktop. All the monkey bars, balance beams, slides, carousels, goal posts, climbing domes, climbing ladders and climbing cubes had this hard packed sand beneath them as did the softball diamonds. Deep cuts into the flesh were guaranteed to anyone who tried to slide home.
If you fell from any of the climbing equipment, you would suffer at least a minor injury. But in those days, it was the kid’s fault if he or she got hurt. Happily, the sand and clay mixture was ideal for building temporary structures that had be bounced over, rolled through, banked around and otherwise navigated like tiny miniature golf courses. The popularity of the gyp joints continued for weeks, and kids kept buying more marbles and spending them like retirees in a casino going through buckets of nickels. Over time, the invisible hand of the free market winnowed the joints from dozens to just eight; kids would restlessly wait in clusters for their chance to gamble for all the marbles.
Jimmy was one of the more successful operators, and had devised a deceptively simple game. A single valuable marble was perched atop a small mound of sand and clay. The area inside the playing circle was scooped out and the marble in the middle sat lower than ground level. Although it looked easy to knock the marble off its perch, the angle from above merely drove the marble deeper into the sand. The only way to knock the marble loose was to drop it into the bowl, have it ride up the mound with some speed and knock the marble loose. The chunks of sand made a bumpy path for any marble, making a win almost impossible. Of course Jimmy could demonstrate the proper method to win, keeping his side of the bowl clear of chunky debris. Gyp joints at this stage of the trend paid out twenty-five to one plus all the marbles used on a turn, so kids thought it worth the risk. They could keep shooting as long as they liked but as their marbles accumulated in the bowl, a winning shot became more and more unlikely. Jimmy’s successful joint resulted in a steady supply of marbles, and if the right player came along, say a green kid who had been given a large supply of marbles for his or her birthday, he would acquire a bounty of glass. He kept his marbles in a velveteen Crown Royal bag his oldest brother had given him and on the day of the crime, it was as full as an overfed tick.
Among the usual cat’s eye and black beauty marbles, more unusual ones also made it into circulation. Some were double the size of a regular marble, and were prized because they could defeat the gyp joint obstacles by simply blasting through them. Steelies were another variation — simply steel ball bearings of varying size. These could be played but only under special conditions that were hotly negotiated. Steelies were a hazard because they chipped the other marbles, sometimes marring especially beautiful specimens. But some dealers were willing to take the chance or knew that the kid offering it was a poor shot, so the odds were good they would lose. Jimmy had one very special marble that he generally kept out of circulation. It was solid plastic, a shiny robin’s egg blue, and slightly larger than normal. It was the only one of its kind on the playground and was coveted. He would occasionally bring it out to sweeten a deal or tempt a reluctant player. He’d won it in the early days of the gyp joint fad and considered it his good luck charm.
No marbles were allowed in the classroom, so everything was kept in the coat closet. Jimmy was certain Peter had entered the closet and helped himself to a fistful of glass. Peter often asked to go to the bathroom. The rumor was he went there to smoke, possibly even to smoke marijuana.
“He even stole my lucky marble!” Jimmy protested to the teacher.
“Can you prove it?” Mr. Hicks asked.
“Yeah, my marble bag was full when I left it in the coat closet and now it’s half empty!”
“Did anyone see how full it was?”
“Yes, Mark and Danny both did. I showed them.”
“And do you think they’ll agree with you that Peter stole the marbles?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Mr. Hicks asked.
“Because Peter will kill them! Nobody’s going to tell on him.”
“But you will?”
In his emotional state, Jimmy hadn’t considered the consequences of telling on Peter. Ted and Peter would definitely come after him if he got them into trouble.
“No.”
“Maybe you can talk to Peter, it might just be a misunderstanding.”
Bullying used to be seen as one of the obstacles kids needed to learn to handle on their own. If teachers made everything a safe zone, the kids wouldn’t learn important life skills like running fast, turning over you lunch money, and taking a beating. Jimmy, already a target because of his thick glasses, husky frame, and complete lack of athletic skills did his best to remain on the opposite side of the playground from Ted and Peter.
The next day at lunch Peter set up a gyp joint with Ted leaning on a tree nearby, monitoring the action. Few kids would play, fearing that Ted or Peter would simply take all their marbles or cheat them and they’d be helpless to protest. So Peter decided to sweeten the pot. He put the rare robin’s egg marble as the prize for winning his game. Word spread quickly that Peter was using Jimmy’s prize marble in his gyp joint. The kids needled Jimmy to do something about it, and he finally gave in and walked up to Ted.
“Peter stole my marbles. I want them back.”
Ted was amused. Where did this little four-eyed goofball come from and why did he have a death wish?
“Pete, did you steal this kid’s marbles?”
“No,” Peter said, “I found them.” The great defense of thieves everywhere.
“Oh, did they fall off the back of a truck?” Jimmy interjected. This was a phrase he picked up from watching the TV show “Kojak.” He wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but knew it had something to do with crime.
“You better shut up, or we’re going to shut you up,” Ted threatened, as he stood up from his tree.
Not knowing what else to do, Jimmy went into a mock rant. “You better watch it Ted, or I’m going to mess up both of you! Don’t make me kick you ass!” Jimmy heard himself saying the words, but his brain caught up to his mouth too late. He knew he was dead.
Ted looked at Jimmy a moment, as did the kids gathered to watch what was sure to be some of Ted and Peter’s finest work. Ted started laughing, and then feigned being frightened, “Oh please, Mr. Badass, don’t hurt me. I don’t want any trouble.” He then removed the plastic marble from Peter’s gyp joint and gave it to Jimmy.
“Hey!” Peter protested.
“Here you go, just don’t hurt us.” Ted pretended to be scared, and to nervously hand over the prized marble.
Jimmy was stunned, but managed to recover. “Okay, I’ll let it go this time, but if I have to come back you’re both dead meat.” Jimmy walked away, his heart flailing in his chest like a squirrel trapped in a blender. He walked alone, his friends staying far away from what was sure to be a monumental beating. Jimmy expected to be attacked from behind, but was too scared to look back. He kept walking to the far side of the playground, unscathed.
The school dismantled all the gyp joints shortly after that, deeming them a form of gambling that was unseemly for kids in grade school, and just that fast the marble fad ended. But for the rest of the school year and the first year of junior high, Ted loved to pretend he was afraid of Jimmy. He never got tired of the joke, and whenever Jimmy was near he cringed and begged, “I don’t want any trouble. Please don’t hurt me.”
Jimmy would respond, “Yeah, you better be scared! And stay out of my way!”
“Yes sir, yes sir, thank you sir.” The joking led to a sort of friendship in which Jimmy and Ted would sometimes talk like any other two kids. Peter had moved away, and Ted was a bit lonely. Jimmy was happy to keep the joke going for as long as Ted wanted, but knew he was toying with a wild thing that could turn on him at any time.
Ted moved away the next year, but Jimmy once again landed in the crosshairs of yet another bully — Hank and his lackeys Lonny and Dwayne. Once again, Jimmy was an easy target with his glasses, greasy hair, and mother-selected clothes. He was on the small side for his age, and still chubby. He was walking from the cafeteria to the gym, which is where everyone hung out after lunch. The two buildings were connected by a breezeway, with an entry hall to the gym as a weather buffer. This is where Hank and his cronies lingered, verbally abusing the girls and physically abusing the boys. Jimmy had managed to avoid detection by carefully hiding behind groups of kids, but one day had left the cafeteria late so had nowhere to hide. Hank especially liked targets separated from the herd.
He immediately noticed Jimmy as the weakling he was, and moved to block his path. Jimmy tried to side-step Hank, but Hank thumped him in the chest hard enough to knock him backwards.
“What are you going to do about it, pussy?” One of Hank’s lackeys asked, happily waiting for whatever assault was on its way.
Alone, and with no other tool in his belt, Jimmy once again acted like a bold fool, warning Hank, “Back off or I’ll kick your ass so bad that you’ll shit blood for month.” In the interim years from grade school to junior high, everyone’s cursing vocabulary had significantly grown.
Hank laughed and said, “You’re pretty goddamn funny. What’s your name?”
“Jimmy,” he said, his heart again desperately trying to escape his ribcage.
“Jimmy, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll stay out of your way and I don’t want any trouble,” Hank said flatly with a grin.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Jimmy stammered and quickly made his way to the gym. He met Mark and Danny there, but they didn’t believe his story.
Throughout junior high and high school, Hank loved the joke he shared with Jimmy and was quick to feign fright if Jimmy made a fist to mock-threaten him. He even took the fall for Jimmy once after Jimmy had given a toothpick soaked in cinnamon oil to a girl and she started bawling, went the to nurse and quickly ratted him out. Hank was in the principal’s office at the time, overheard the story and told the principal that he had given her the toothpick, not Jimmy. Hank was given additional days of detention and never said a word about it to Jimmy. Once she had forgiven him for giving her a burning toothpick, the girl told Jimmy how Hank took the fall for him.
The next time he saw Hank, Jimmy asked why he’d taken the blame.
“They blame me everything else. So I figured, what the fuck? Plus that girl was being a pain in the ass.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Hank would go on to have multiple juvenile convictions for assault, had court-ordered counseling with two psychologists, and was rumored to have nearly killed someone during a fight when he broke his victim’s jaw and the guy almost suffocated on his own tongue. But the running gag of Hank being afraid of Jimmy continued all the way through graduation.
Jimmy’s ability to manage bullies and to bluff effectively served him well the rest of his life; from landlords, to bosses, professors, doctors, cops, insurance companies, lawyers, neighbors, celebrities, and girlfriends he learned that once you turn the table on a bully they quickly cave. And that false confidence is better than no confidence at all.