What's in the Water in Midland, Texas?

Written by David Edwards

In 1959 in Odessa, Texas, Mike Capra struck fear in the hearts of most sixth-grade boys and many of the girls at Burnet Elementary School.  Mike was a big guy with a bad attitude.  He had dark hair with a flattop haircut, and after school hours he usually wore a black tee shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the left sleeve.  It was my first year at Burnet, where I also was a sixth-grader, and my family had moved just a few houses away from where Mike’s family lived.  On occasion I saw Mike’s father go to and from their house in his Ford pickup, and unsurprisingly, he had dark hair with a flattop haircut and usually wore a black tee shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the left sleeve.

Mike’s modus operandi was to extort lunch money, or sometimes lunch from kids.  What he offered them in return was a mafia-like protection, which they correctly understood to be protection from him.  Those who resisted his offer routinely wound up with some variety of bodily harm, along with standing threats of future injury, especially if they ratted on him either to parents or teachers.  So far as I knew, no one ever did. 

Supplementing his well-earned sinister reputation, Mike had a curious enterprising side to him.  In early November, I saw him displaying on school grounds during lunchtime and recess a placard attached to a stick he held announcing his Saturday fight against Dennis Sutton and Don Butler, both strapping boys.  The event would be held on a hill in a nearby vacant lot, and admission to the event would be at a cost of five cents, to be collected in advance.  I never learned what incentive possessed Dennis and Don to fight Mike but thought it probably was that they liked their two-against-one odds and wanted to be the heroes who stomped the school bully.  Unfortunately for them, that didn’t happen.  I wasn’t there, but the following Monday it came to my ears that Mike in a dirty fight had downed both of them and pushed them off the hill.

After that, I felt in my bones that it would not be long before I would receive Mike’s visit of intimidation, so I realized I had to plan for it.  My first thought was that I was the fastest runner in the school and that I could simply run from him without being overtaken.  But I soon abandoned that plan in favor of another, one that might work better.  I began its implementation by asking my parents for an early Christmas present—two pairs of boxing gloves.  I then approached Mike in a friendly way at his house, seeking to get on his good side, if he had one, while knowing that I was unlikely to become his friend, for Mike had no friendships.  I found that he liked animals and took care of many in his backyard—dogs, cats, snakes, raccoons, badgers, and other strange ones that I couldn’t recognize.  I helped him feed them and clean up their messes while engaging him in conversations about his best fights, which he was pleased to recount.

Meanwhile, my parents, to my delight, granted my request, and I began sparring in the new Joe Louis gloves with my younger brother, Larnie, who had proven himself as a bruising fullback on the school football team.  Over a few weeks, we became pretty good at boxing, but I began fighting above his ability to withstand punches, so I had to invite my father to spar with me, which he graciously, and perhaps fiendishly, did.  It was a good move, because Dad taught me how to box well, both offensively and defensively.  I found myself many times knocked to the ground but each time learned something I could use.

So I was ready.  During the Christmas break from school, I invited Mike to my house to show him my Christmas presents.  He came, and I asked him if he would like to try out my new boxing gloves with me.  He was eager to do so.  We donned them and fought in my front yard.  To my surprise, Mike only connected two or three times, while I brought him to his knees with a systematic mauling, bloodying his nose and giving him a shiner in the right eye.  He was stunned more from my bringing him down than from the injuries inflicted on him.  Secretly, my regret was that I couldn’t blacken his right eye.

Even more to my surprise, when school resumed, Mike stopped his bullying.  I introduced him to Johnny Casper, my classmate, who with me was a straight-A student, and we together were at the top of our class.  Our teacher, Mr. Kunz, favored us with accelerated tutelage in math and science.  Johnny wanted to be a physicist, and I wanted to be a hobo.  Nothing wasted on me, huh?  So, Mike, to my chagrin, took up a friendship with Johnny and joined him in games and activities that nerds do.  Mike became a pansy.

I, on the other hand, engaged in more fights.  First, in a baseball game dispute, I fought Jimmy Mason.  That resulted in Jimmy’s bloody nose and two shiners.  I prided myself in improving my left hook to the right eye.  Jimmy was a good sport about it, although his parents weren’t.  Two days later I fought my best friend, Pat Callen, over a place in line.  I wrestled him.  I didn’t want to put bruises on him, because Pat’s mother had taught me to dance the jitterbug, and his parents liked me, thinking me to be a good influence on Pat.  That soon stopped.

Then my newfound world collapsed.  Mr. Kunz received complaints on my new appetite for violence and called my parents for a meeting with them and me.  None of the three of them was pleased, and together they shut me down.  I had to apologize to Jimmy and to Pat.  I had to turn my Joe Louis gloves in.  I had to promise not to fight again, and if I did the consequences would be much greater than I could predict.

Having gone through that gauntlet, I sat alone in my bedroom that night and thought.  I confronted myself.  What had happened to me?  Well, it was quite simple—I had replaced Mike Capra as the school bully.  I decided to make the change, and I happily relied on my speed forever thereafter.

Afternote:  I fictionalized the names of the boys for personal safety reasons.  Otherwise, if big Mike were to discover this writing and has reverted to his former ways, I might not sleep very well.  I’m not as fast as I used to be.