Saturday, March 10, 2012

Violence at the Laundromat


The second year of grad school began in September 1970. I settled down to study—no more knocking on doors to protest the Vietnam War, no more marching to the Capitol, no more criticizing professors’ teaching methods. I still felt incompetent.
The teacher who’d laughed at our classroom answers had returned my final essay on the symbolism in Melville’s novel Billy Budd. On the back page, he’d written, “I find this paper totally laughable.”
Then he proceeded to tell me all the good things about the composition: the writing, the interpretation of the symbols, the research. After that paragraph of praise, he scrawled, “For these and many other reasons, I can give you only a D.” His reasoning eluded me. I felt as if I’d entered an alternate universe in which words no longer meant what they had before.
That feeling continued throughout the rest of grad school. My grades slipped lower. I wasn’t doing well on exams. Moreover, I’d never really learned to come up with a premise and prove or disprove it through research.
I sunk deeper into despair. The three voices continued to hound me. A violent happening one winter night of that second year exacerbated all this.
On that night I lugged a bag of dirty clothes to the corner Laundromat. Two young women stood folding their first load of laundry, discussing the latest episode of a popular television soap opera.


Sitting before the washer with the round, glass door set in front, I watched my load of whites swish. The sound mesmerized me. Sleep came hard that year.
Then—Shouting. Cursing. The thudding of feet against a body.
The three of us rushed to the glass door. On the sidewalk in front of the Laundromat, five men, looming large in their polyester-filled parkas, were kicking a sixth young man who writhed on the sidewalk, trying to elude the flailing of their footed winter boots.
He held his arms tightly around his head. His prone body, folded in a fetal position, jerked wildly on the ice as the five assailants moved around him, their feet lashing out. They stood above him, shouting—their words so maniacal I couldn’t make sense of them.
Without considering the consequences, I flung open the Laundromat door, yelling “Call the police!” at the two young women. Grabbing hold of one assailant, who was intent only on his boot connecting with the body on the sidewalk, I shoved him roughly aside. He stumbled backward, cursing.
I fell to my knees and bent over the young man’s face, trying to protect his head. My hair was short and I wore slacks and a loose sweatshirt. Because of this, the five didn’t immediately recognize me as a woman. They began pummeling me with their fists. I shouted, “Stop! Stop this! You’ll kill him.”
My voice did stop them—momentarily. Then I heard one, clearly the leader, say, “Knock her off 'em. Then I'll bush his head in.”
Someone grabbed my shoulders and pulled me backward. Resisting, I lunged forward, my body now pressed against the young man’s face. I enfolded his head in my arms.
“Get her off 'em!” the leader shouted.
Two tried pulling me away. I hold on so tightly that they dragged the two of us in a circle on the ice. The young man beneath me shuddered as the other three assailants kicked his torso and legs repeatedly. He moaned as thuds battered his body. 
Thenthe siren.
As if concluding a ritual, each of the young men gave the victim one last, swift kick before running into the darkness.


            Aftermath: The police called an ambulance and questioned both the young man and me. He was mumbling so I couldn’t really hear what he said. I was able to describe only what I’d seen. I had no idea about what had occurred before the scene in front of the Laundromat.
            I heard the police put out an alert for five fleeing men. The ambulance came and the young man climbed in its back door. The police encouraged me to go with him, but I refused. I had no insurance.
            When they left, I entered the warmth of the Laundromat. I’d rushed out into the night without my coat and was shivering from cold and shock.
            I removed my clothes from the washer, put them in the drier, and sat down to consider what had happened. In that melee who was innocent? Who was guilty? I didn’t know.
            Nor do I know what happened to that young man or to the five who assailed him so rigorously. What I do know is that the next morning I woke with a knot on the back of my head and a black eye. That and one other thing: nothing is truly settled with fists and boots and violence.
                                                      (Continued on Tuesday . . . )


Photo of Laundromat from Wikipedia.
Photo of winter scene by Maggie Smith from freedigitalphotos


51 comments:

  1. This gave me goosebumps! True story??

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    1. Dear Lil Dreamer,
      Yes, the story is true. I'm writing an on-line memoir and so all the stories are from my life. In the posting next Saturday, I'll share another story of violence during that time.

      Peace.

      Delete
  2. Getting involved by carrying a protest sign is one thing--shielding a stranger's body with your own while he is still being attacked is another! I wonder how many people would do that? I wonder if I could do that? I hope I never have to find out.

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    1. Dear Fishducky,
      I don't know if I would have shielded his body if I'd considered the consequences. I didn't. I simply ran out the door and shoved one of that assailants aside. Adrenaline had taken over!

      Peace.

      Delete
  3. I like to think I would do the same, bu I don't know. Like fishducky, I hope I never have to find out.

    And do you know now, how very brave you are?

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    1. Dear Teresa,
      In a moment like that, most of us don't think of being brave. We just rush to the rescue. The situation was so clearly imbalanced: five against one. I didn't stop to think. I thought they were going to kick him to death, and so I ran out the door.

      I've never thought of that as being brave. Foolhardy maybe!

      Peace.

      Delete
  4. You are so amazing. I doubt I could have done such a thing. As for that professor who gave you a D: What a jerk!

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    1. Dear Broad,
      Yes, that professor was a jerk. I've wondered since reading the comments for the posting I did on him two weeks ago if perhaps he was unstable.

      Peace.

      Delete
  5. Dee, You are so brave, and I am so proud of you. What an amazing thing to do. I can only say I hope I would do the same. As for that professor, he was the kind of person who destroys students' lives just because he felt like it. What a poor teacher and even poorer role model for the young people.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie,
      Thank you for your kind words. If you'd been around then and in Minnesota, you could have interviewed the young man or me and come up with one of your find columns!

      Peace.

      Delete
  6. Wow. I love that, despite the trials you discovered at graduate school and a crisis of faith in your own abilities, you never lost the conviction of your beliefs about how people ought to be treated. That, my friend, is far more important than grades or defending your theme sentence ;-).

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    1. Dear Kari,
      My mother taught me well. She insisted always that I refrain from judging others and that I treat everyone the same--fairly and respectfully.

      Justice was an abiding concern of hers--whether it had to do with the Hispanic students in our grade school in the forties or the hobos who came to our backdoor or the African American boy I met on the Kansas City streetcar.

      "Go the extra mile," she said. She always did so and that's what I've tried to do also. One could have had a better model of a compassionate person than my mom.

      Peace.

      Delete
  7. Dee, I honestly doubt I could have done what you did to protect that young man and I hope I never have to find out. I think he probably owes his life to you, or at least the fact he didn't suffer lasting damage.

    As for your deeply inadequate professor, he was the one with problems, not you.

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    1. Dear Perpetua,
      I don't think any of us really know what we'd do in a desperate situation until we meet it. We surprise ourselves, I think, by the fierceness of a response in the face of a injustice. And of course in this Laundromat situation, I saw the possibility of their kicking the young man to death. That's all I could think about.

      Peace.

      Delete
  8. I echo Fran's comment on this, Dee. How incredibly courageous and utterly selfless you were in that moment. I am pretty sure I would not have had your courage! The fact that you were not seriously injured yourself is miraculous. Those five men, in the heat of their madness could so easily have turned their violence on you. What a dreadful experience and yet you just resumed what you had been doing immediately before. I know I would have been a nervous wreck. You are quite something, Dee!

    As regards your Professor, the man clearly had grave emotional problems of his own and should not have been teaching. I'm pretty sure he would have been disbarred had you brought his incompetence to the attention of his superiors. His behavior was nothing short of malicious and most unprofessional. It is clear he was retaliating in a very immature way. Such a pity you allowed this experience to undermine your own self worth!

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    1. Dear Desiree,
      The laundry was waiting for me and I needed to put it in the drier! I didn't have any extra money to buy more clothes. So I just went back in and finished what I'd started earlier.

      As to the professor, I did let what happened undermine my belief in myself and my abilities. I think that shows how immature I really was then. I let that happen; he didn't force me to give up on myself.

      Peace.

      Delete
  9. you were so brave! as terrible as this is, I don't know what I would do in a situation like this...

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    1. Dear Baiba,
      I don't think we ever know what we'd do in that type of situation. And so many things go into our response. I suspect you are brave in many ways. Hold on to that.

      Peace.

      Delete
  10. Your courage in a very dangerous situation is just astounding, Dee! Like everyone else, I'm not sure I could have done what you did. Calling the police is one thing. Throwing yourself into a dangerous, physically violent situation is quite another. I'm sure you saved that young man's life.

    I'm struck by this thought-provoking post that you're describing two kinds of violence: physically thuggery and intellectual thuggery. That professor was such a bully and, unfortunately, had the power to hurt you gradewise (and, possibly, spirit-wise as well). There's no excuse for treating a student that way. My toughest college professor was also very caring and helped me to grow as a writer and as a person in so many ways. On the other hand, I had a professor in journalism grad school who was a total thug. He was a newspaper editor and a group of us were doing internships at his paper. One day, he mis-took me for another student -- we strongly resembled each other. In front of everyone, he screamed that I was a horrible writer and would never make it. We all stopped, stunned. I had graduated with honors from Northwestern's journalism school only a few months before and was already nationally published. So my ego and experience was at variance with his opinion. Still, even when he realized his error and aimed his comments at my hapless look-alike classmate (who dropped out of the Master's program not long after), I cried with rage because no one should ever treat anyone like that.

    I'm so glad that terrible professor -- who was so obviously threatened by talent and an inquisitive mind -- didn't destroy your spirit!

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    1. Dear Kathy,
      I am sorry even now that you had to go through such embarrassment in grad school. Teachers like that should not be allowed to teach. They have forgotten how to respect a fellow human being.

      Somehow my spirit has survived. I think we all go through those hard times that threaten to derail us, but somehow, for most of us, some grace through person or place intervenes and we find our grounding again.

      Peace

      Delete
  11. Ah! Someone else who has that crazy, jump-into-the-frey, righteousness that knows no fear in that moment. We are lucky we survived, you know? I faced off a disgruntled employee with a gun in the restaurant my fiance owned and I worked at...I was big as a house pregnant at the time. I have often stepped in with verbal fights, or jumped in with injured or hysterical people, protected animals being abused, but never a physical confrontation with grown men. Hats off to you, my dear! :) And, no...it doesn't matter who started it or who was in the right or the wrong to begin with. I am proud to know you, fellow warrior! :):)

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    1. Dear Rita,
      Oh! I so love that you were a warrior! I love that you continue to be a warrior in the way you have responded to fibromyalgia. I can just see you in that restaurant. I tell you, Woman, you have so much to blog about should you ever choose to tell your life story previous to Fargo.

      Peace.

      Delete
  12. My you were brave I don't know what I would have done.
    One has to be in that situation to trust their insticts I guess.

    Have a peaceful Sunday.
    Yvonne.

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    1. Dear Yvonne,
      Yes, I think we do just trust our instincts.

      Peace.

      Delete
  13. Oh Dee: Where to start. That professor was an oxygen thief. Who knows how many people he damaged to make himself feel better. I am sad for him, but angry at the amount of power that people like him still have.
    Your life saving leap to that poor boy's rescue? I believe that in times of crisis when there is no time to think the core of a person shines through. Yours is compassionate and committed to justice. A solid core. A valuable core. And all this while battling your internal demons who still could not alter your fundamental beliefs. You are an amazing woman and I am glad that you came home and that I am able to visit. Thank you.

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    1. Dear EC,
      Thank you for your kind words. I like to think that I am still committed to justice although I've done so little in the past few years. I seem to have settled into a lethargy about the power of one to effect change. And yet I know that it is the one step that begins the journey.

      Peace.

      Delete
  14. Dee this was so well written! I wish you know how the story ended. I always wonder when these things ha[[en how it all ended. Well done my friend. and way to keep us on the line.

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    1. Dear Melynda,
      I, too, wish I knew how the story ended. But for much of my time at the university, I had just enough energy to go to classes, do the work, and sleep. I didn't take the daily paper or water television news and so I missed out any reports on this.
      Sad really.

      Peace.

      Delete
  15. Wow! Reading this story and all the comments was quite an education in itself. I sometimes wonder about how I would respond in similar situations. I have never (that I remember anyway) experienced either of these events in my own life. How would I respond? I don't know.

    But I do know that your bravery probably saved the young man's life. And the fact that you are writing today with such honesty and bravery is a gift to me and belies his unfair criticism. I am glad you are a survivor.

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    1. Dear DJan,
      You know I don't know how I'd respond if someone broke into my car--as they did to you two or three months ago--and stole many items that were valuable and dear to me. Yet I remember how quickly you came to terms with that and then found such delight in the new items that you were able to buy to take the place of the stolen ones.

      All of us, I think do what we have to do when we have to do it. So I'm glad that you, too, are a survivor!

      Peace.

      Delete
  16. I am so impressed with your courage. You did what we all wish we could but seldom do when the situation occurs. I am not guessing about myself. I was in a similar situation once and just sat frozen to the bench.
    I do wish you had gotten the rest of the story as to the "why" that poor soul had been so beaten but am so grateful he was spared thanks to your intervention.

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    1. Dear Arkansas Patti,
      The thing is that what we've done once, we may not do again. You froze once, but I bet if your family was endangered you'd leap up and help. You'd become a dynamo of adrenaline and fight tooth and nail to save someone you loved.

      Peace.

      Delete
  17. Dear Dee, I can only echo the comments of others as to your courage and sense of justice. You are a hero to me; one who does courageous things when the moments calls.

    I actually read your post yesterday, was called away from my desk, the day wore on . . . so, "here I be" after some time to reflect, which I hope you won't mind and will indulge me in my thoughts.

    The professor was despicable and likely altered many a life and career path for his bullying ways. I'm not sure what more you really could have done then, remembering the time in history this took place. Late sixties, early seventies. He had tenure, no doubt, with more of his ilk in administration. What angers me even more is that this still goes on, as we've seen here through a radio personality, still bullying college women.

    I'm certain I could not have done what you did at the laundromat. You are courageous, Dee. I would like to think I at least would have called the police. Today, a cell phone call and cameras getting it all recorded. The sadness is that it still goes on. I dare say you have ended up with worse that the knot and black eye. You were, indeed, injured in this as well.

    Have you ever read Fist, Stick, Knife, Gun? Our group read it quite a few years ago about the progression of violence. Not a fast read, but, provocative as I recall.

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    1. Dear Penny,
      Per your suggestion, I went to the library website and found "Fist, Stick, Knife, and Gun." So I will try to read it. And yet, the Laundromat incident did injure me because it brought me closer and closer to the edge. I simply couldn't live with the inhumanity we sometimes show one another or see in one another.

      Today's cell phones and video recorders would have made such a difference. The thing I think of is that in many inner cities, people live with this kind of violence and situation all the time. Mayhem and death exist not only right outside their door but sometimes within. Of course, violence can exist in any household in any strata of society. We certainly read about it all the time. I think Stokely Carmichael was so right--"Violence is as American as apple pie."

      Peace.

      Delete
  18. Whoa, Nelly. What a thing!! So brave, so willing to protect a stranger. Would I have done that? I hope never to find out.

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    1. Dear Susan,
      I, too, hope you never have to find out.

      Peace.

      Delete
  19. what a scene. your reaction reveals who you really are. and your reaction to intervene is not a common one.

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    1. Dear Ed,
      The thing is Ed that the scene before me was so unexpectedly that I didn't even think what someone would do. I thought only that the young man would be kicked in the head and die.

      Peace.

      Delete
  20. Did you ever ask the professor what he meant by "laughable" on your paper? Seems a strange thing to say, along with a "D" when he gave you words of praise for your writing and interpretation.

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    1. Dear Manzanita,
      I'm sure he was referring to the fact that I'd said he laughed out our answers in class. You may not have had the chance to read the posting I did on that. Here's the link for it, if you'd like to go back and read it.
      http://cominghometomyself.blogspot.com/2012/02/laughter-in-classroom.html

      This is in my Feburary archive. It's entitled "Laughter in the Classroom."

      Peace,

      Delete
  21. How courageous! I can't imagine how terrifying that must have been.

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    1. Dear Elisa,
      I don't remember being terrifying during the actual event. I was just intent on covering up the young man's head so he wouldn't have brain injury. Later, I sat--in shock--in the Laundromat!

      Peace.

      Delete
  22. This post, like so many of your others, just reaffirms that there are some beautiful people in this world. You are a gift, Dee.

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    1. Dear Stephanie,
      I agree. Many fine and beautiful and wonderful people in our world.

      Peace.

      Delete
  23. Wow. What a fantastic story...

    Pearl

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    1. Dear Pearl,
      Thank you for stopping by. I'll now go to your blog and discover the stories you tell.

      Peace.

      Delete
  24. Oh dear Dee! Once more you were in a position where you might just have likely been killed! Your instinct to protect wasn't probably the wisest, yet how could I ever fault someone for such overwhelming compassion as to not be able to sit and watch someone likely be kicked and pummeled to death. I was not able to do much reading this weekend, so here I am on Monday, very glad you're posting tomorrow! Wow! Debra

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  25. Dear Debra,
    I know from reading your blog that you would have done the same!

    Peace.

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  26. Wow! I just found your blog and I'm enthralled.

    That was incredibly courageous.

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  27. Dear Emily,
    Thanks so much for coming to my blog. Now I can visit yours and learn your stories.

    Peace.

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  28. I'm so sorry this happened to you, and the young man who was beaten.

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