The Birth of Will Williams

One of the things I noticed when my kids were in school was that school districts now designate themselves as “No Bully Zones.”

When I was in school, it felt more like a “Full Bully Zone.”

School was more dangerous to me then than it is now when I drive through Pennsylvania and see signs that say things like, “Beware of Falling Rocks.”

When I was in school, one of the biggest movies was Grease. There were rumbles, car races, and we all laughed as the T-Birds picked on Eugene.

Now kids are watching movies like The Greatest Showman, where the message is that we all have to learn to get along.

I’ve often thought that some of the spoiled young people I see today are the product of the “everybody gets a trophy” generation. No bullies. Everybody gets an award. Nobody gets a wedgie.

So they become entitled and, frankly, annoying.

I would propose that, much like zoologists and wildlife conservationists sometimes do, we reintroduce bullies back into the environment to thin out the herd of the entitled.

Have you ever seen someone trying to order a soy macchiato at Starbucks with a wedgie?

I need to.

My most frequent bully was Ricky, who lived right behind my house on Park Avenue. He was one or two grades ahead of me, depending on the year, but it seemed like more.

I’m pretty sure that when I was in fourth grade at Marion Delaney Elementary School and he was in sixth, he was old enough to rent a car.

One day, Ricky started a massive food fight in the cafeteria.

There was food everywhere. I believe two janitors resigned on the spot.

Ricky spilled an entire tray of milk and started throwing full slices of pizza at people. Many students retaliated with pizza and the tiny cups of coleslaw that came with it.

By the way, who came up with that combination?

Our principal at Marion Delaney Elementary School was Ms. Senesky. She was very small and older, but she put the fear of God into all of us.

When she was angry, she would have the cafeteria aides bang food trays while she climbed up and stood on top of a table so we could all see her.

Just the thought of it puts shivers down my spine, even today.

Up until this point, Ricky didn’t really know who I was.

For years, I had watched him pick on my friends. I watched his antics from a safe distance, but he wasn’t very familiar with me.

That was because I was smart enough to avoid him.

Today would be the day that all changed.

One of the greatest privileges of elementary school was that some days, especially Fridays, our classes were allowed to leave the classroom early and go play in the schoolyard until dismissal.

Major games of kickball, football and basketball ensued.

After the food fight, Ms. Senesky announced there would be no kickball for at least two weeks.

No playground.

No fun.

I felt my blood begin to boil.

Then Ms. Senesky climbed onto the table, stared out at all of us and asked the question that changed everything:

“Who started this disaster? Who is the ringleader?”

It felt like the spotlight was suddenly on me.

She was the CIA and I was the guy sitting in the chair with a bright light shining in my face.

I started to sweat.

She looked right at me.

It felt like she was looking into my soul.

I was smart enough to know that snitches get stitches.

I had spent years keeping my head low. Avoiding bullies. Keeping to myself and my small circle of friends.

But on this day, under Senesky’s interrogation, I couldn’t hold back.

I looked up at her.

“Ricky did it.”

Ricky wasn’t sure who said it, but a few people at his table knew it was me.

They didn’t know me before.

But now they knew of me.

Ms. Senesky got off the table and took Ricky into custody.

I’m told he got in big trouble. A call was made to his parents. He may have even been suspended for a day or two. I can’t say for sure.

As much trouble as Ricky had gotten into, I was in more.

My friend Nick told me he was sad that I was going to die.

Fortunately, he had a plan.

Ricky and his friends would obviously start asking people who sold him out. Nick and my other friends would simply tell them it was Chris Williamson.

There was only one problem with that plan.

I was Chris Williamson.

So Nick decided that, effective immediately, I wasn’t.

On that day, Chris Williamson ceased to exist.

My new name was Will Williams.

Will had no history.

Will had no enemies.

And most importantly, Will had never witnessed a food fight.

The next day, two of Ricky’s friends approached me on the schoolyard.

“Are you Chris?”

I looked at them.

“No. Haven’t seen him today.”

I had now fully committed to the role.

“My name is Will. Nice to meet you.”

I even put my hand out in friendship.

They ignored it.

Apparently, Ricky’s friends weren't interested in getting to know Will Williams.

Eventually, they discovered that I was actually Chris.

From then on, I was running home every day with Ricky and his friends in hot pursuit.

Not only did Ricky find out who I was, he also discovered that I lived right near him.

School eventually let out, but unfortunately, Ricky did not.

It was a rough summer.

One day I was riding bikes with my older cousin Chuck when Ricky and his friend Tommy came riding by.

On one bike.

Both of them.

Ricky was sitting on the back holding a pea shooter. Remember those?

As they rode past, Ricky opened fire.

He gunned Chuck down.

Chuck went flying off the back of his bike. It looked like a war movie where a soldier racing by on a motorcycle gets taken out by a sniper.

Chuck was okay.

But that was pretty much the end of bike riding that summer.

Eventually, Ricky lost interest in me. He moved on to higher grades, different schools and, presumably, bigger people to terrorize.

I’ve since heard that Ricky led a troubled life and has passed away.

I was genuinely sorry to hear that.

And here I am, more than 40 years later, still writing about that food fight.

I suppose I learned some valuable lessons from Ricky.

For example: Wear a helmet with a face shield when riding your bike on Park Avenue.

I also learned that there is a time and a place when you should keep your mouth shut.

My ex would tell you I never actually learned that lesson.

But I’m trying.

Here’s to all of you who survived the Full Bully Zone.

And to everyone who ever walked home from school with a wedgie.