The Child Buyer (16 page)

Senator MANSFIELD. He spoke to us of wanting to bring order out of chaos.

Mr. JONES. Yes, it's a creative urge—too powerful, I'd say, for old-fashioned taxonomy. He'd wind up in biophysics, I imagine. But of course when we get our hands on him at U. Lympho, there'll be no question of—

Mr. BROADBENT. Please go on, sir, with your interview.

Mr. JONES. The boy showed me what he called his family tree. It was a series of captioned drawings—an amoeba named Amos Rudd; a jellyfish, Medusa Rudd; a fish going ashore, perspiring from the effort, whose name was U. Sthenop Terron Rudd. Then there were dinosaurs named Patrick, Cyril, Wolfgang, and Ludwig Rudd. An anaptomorphus, or lemur, named Actor Louis Phineas Reginald Ignatz Mendel Rudd. A pithecanthropus, a cave man, holding an American flag, named Ebenczer Rudd. Finally he pointed to three snapshots at the bottom and said, That's my grandfather, Paul George Rudd, a butcher and

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violin carver. That's my father, Paul James Rudd, machinist and salesman. And that's me, Barry Rudd—merchandise/ That was a sarcastic blow at me—out in the open.

Mr. BROADBENT. How did you counter?

Mr. JONES. I fell back to rally my forces. You couldn't see a trace of anger on the boy's face. He talked on in his gentle expressive voice, about how he visualizes taxonomic relationships and the adaptive flow of evolution in his mind. He said his sensations were like those of the dog Buck, in The Call of the Wild, who saw the man by the campfire melt, as it were, into a hairy cave man. He could 'melt' the skull of one reptile ('large number of bones—worse than a jigsaw puzzle') into the skull of another. And how he saw evolution as a sort of gliding moving picture—a creature in a setting, then, as a geologic age gives way to its successor, the creature and setting dissolve and change and emerge clearly in new forms. Matter of fact, he led me into a booby trap on all this. Just after we'd talked about these pictures in his mind I asked him if he liked TV. 'Oh, yes,' he said. I asked him what his favorite program was, and he said it was one called Up from the Mire. I said I hadn't heard of that one. What sort of program was that? 'About evolution,' he said. The gradual changes in the forms of animals. Slight touch of Lysenkianism in the approach but basically mutant genes. 1 I asked him what channel it was on, what network. 'Oh, no channel/ he said. 'It's my program. It's in my head/

Senator SKYPACK. That little smart aleck likes to give people a hard time.

Mr. JONES. I enjoy a specimen that has spunk, but I must admit, he was pressing me a little closely: and he didn't let up either. Next he got in some licks at his father that I think were really aimed at me. 'I distrust television,' he said. The trouble with it is that there's too much command, authority. Do this, buy that! I suppose that on the subliminal level, the stove, where

Monday, October 28

warm food comes from, is mother, the TV, with its blustering authority, is father/ And with that he turned a flood of abstraction loose on me; it was like a gas attack. 'During the past year/ he said, Tve come to the conclusion that a person should never accept any statement, idea, or even any "fact" as being the absolute truth. An important part of this whole idea is the tenet that no statement should be believed merely because it has been made by an authority. There's real danger in the acceptance of the word of an authority without questioning it, because the acceptance may blind us to proof of a more accurate statement. The best example of this danger given to us is the stagnation of thought in the Middle Ages, which resulted from the unquestioning acceptance by most of the time's great thinkers of the utterances of certain ancient authorities. The evidence to disprove some of the old ideas was right before men's eyes, but, blinded by authority, they didn't see it/

Mr. BROADBENT. What was he getting at?

Mr. JONES. I think he was telling me that he was going to defy his father—and me. I tried changing the subject, but he wouldn't let it stay changed. I asked him how he got along with his contemporaries. And he said, 'Not too badly for an odd ball. Did you know that the schoolboys used to chase Coleridge out of their games and that they baited him all the time? He got to be fretful, scaredy-cat, and tattletale, and stuck up about how bright he was. Once he ran away from home after a squabble with his brother; he was sickly for a long time as a result of the exposure. But, you see, he wasn't as tough as Huckleberry Finn, who ran away because his father wanted to exploit him. 9 . . . The slight stress on that 'him' told me I was up against a pretty tough article myself. I finally decided just to lay my proposition squarely on the table, and I did.

Mr. BROADBENT. What did he answer?

Mr. JONES. One word.

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Senator MANSFIELD. Don't tell me, let me guess!

Mr. JONES. You've guessed, all right.

Senator VOYOLKO. Would you spell that out?

Mr. JONES. N.O.

Senator SKYPACK. What the devil, couldn't you go over his head and just buy him?

Mr. JONES. From the father I could have, yes, but the mother said she wouldn't consider it unless the boy agreed.

Senator SKYPACK. By God, we'll change that. Who does she think she is?

Mr. JONES. I'm afraid the mind that'll have to be changed belongs to the boy, Senator.

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, Mr. Jones, we thank you. You may step down now.

Senator SKYPACK. Just want you to know, sir, that some of us here are going to do all we can—

Senator MANSFIELD. Your next witness, Mr. Broadbent.

Mr. BROADBENT. Charles Perkonian.

Senator MANSFIELD. Please just stand up right there, sonny, and be sworn.

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give this committee on the matters under consideration will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What's all that jazz?

Mr. BROADBENT. Just hold up your hand and say, 'I do/

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I do.

Mr. BROADBENT. Sit down.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I do what? Say, what goes on here?

TESTIMONY OF CHARLES PERKONIAN, MINOR, TOWN OF PEQUOT

Mr. BROADBENT. What is your name? 130

Monday, October 28

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Charley.

Mr. BROADBENT. Full name.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Charles Aram Perkonian. Junior.

Mr. BROADBENT. You're called Flattop?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sometimes Flattop.

Mr. BROADBENT. You're a friend of Barry Rudd?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure.

Mr. BROADBENT. Why do you like Barry Rudd?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. He's cool.

Mr. BROADBENT. What do you mean by that?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. He's cooZ. You stupid or something?

Mr. BROADBENT. Is it true you were released in September from Clarkdale Reformatory?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What's it to you?

Mr. BROADBENT. On what charge were you sent up there?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Salt in the battery.

Mr. BROADBENT. Beg pardon?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Salt in the battery. Stupid. I slugged a stupid driver the school bus.

Mr. BROADBENT. Tell me, Charles, do you know how to make a stink bomb?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. You take and put some hide-your-color acid and . . . Why'n't you ask Rudd the Crud he's so brainy?

Mr. BROADBENT. Do you think Barry Rudd knows something about the stink bomb that was tossed in the auditorium of Lincoln School while the State Supervisor—

CHARLES PERKONIAN. When that happen?

Mr. BROADBENT. Last Tuesday.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Tuesday. What's today?

Mr. BROADBENT. Monday the twenty-eighth.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Monday. Yesterday was Sunday. Right? What'd you say, Tuesday?

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Mr. BROADBENT. Last Tuesday at three o'clock in the afternoon.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Tuesday. Today Monday, you say that?

Mr. BROADBENT. That's correct.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember.

Mr. BROADBENT. Last Tuesday afternoon you were with Barry Rudd in the biology-chemistry lab of Wairy High School, isn't that right?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember nothing.

Mr. BROADBENT. Were you in the lab there with him?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What day was that again?

Mr. BROADBENT. All right, I'll ask you something else. Do you remember one day after school, about ten days ago, when Barry Rudd came to see you at the bowling alleys?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The lanes. Sure.

Mr. BROADBENT. You remember that?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. He come there.

Mr. BROADBENT. You remember discussing a fish known as the stickleback?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. Sure. That's the one such a sex-boat. Sure.

Mr. BROADBENT. You were discussing sex, then.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. All a time.

Mr. BROADBENT. Do you know a girl named Florence Ren-zulli?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. She's my class. The one the big bazooms. I mean you take her age.

Mr. BROADBENT. Watch your language, Charles. Everything you say goes into the public record.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I ain't said nothing.

Mr. BROADBENT. When discussing the stickleback, did he express any special feeling for Florence Renzulli?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Feeling her? I don't remember.

Monday, October 28

Mr. BROADBENT. You have suggested Florence Renzulli is advanced for her age.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I didn't say nothing. I don't remember nothing.

Mr. BROADBENT. The other night, when a gang attacked the Rudds' home—

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Hey, was that cool!

Mr. BROADBENT. You were there?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Why not? It's a free country. Why shouldn't I be there?

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand Barry Rudd was picked up by the police. Was he taking part in an assault on his own home?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What you want me to do, finger my pal? I don't remember nothing.

Mr. BROADBENT. How many were involved in the attack?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember.

Mr. BROADBENT. Now, look here. You've already said you were there.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember. I don't remember. I don't remember. A million times if you ask me.

Mr. BROADBENT. The windows—

CHARLES PERKONIAN. That was cool. Like they had these baseball bats, see. I got me this fungo bat. That was the greatest. They had this signal, see—

Mr. BROADBENT. Then you do remember.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Look, stupid, why'n't you pick on somebody your own size? Why'n't you ask the man the funny hat?

Mr. BROADBENT. Funny hat?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The flat fedora. You call me Flattop!

Mr. BROADBENT. You mean a pork-pie hat? You mean Mr. Wissey Jones?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't know no names. The guy the

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classy motorcycle you can snap it the middle.

Mr. BROADBENT. You must mean Mr. Jones. Why Mr. Jones? What does he know about the assault? What are you trying to say, young man?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Don't ask me. Ask him. Ask the drugstore guy.

Mr. BROADBENT. The drugstore man?

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The guy a stomach out to here.

Mr. BROADBENT. The druggist? What was the name, Mr. Chairman? Ellithorp?

Senator MANSFIELD. That was the name, yes.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Ask him.

Mr. BROADBENT. What did he have to do—

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Don't ask me, ask him.

Senator SKYPACK. Now, listen, you little delinquent rat, are you trying to suggest that Mr. Wissey Jones—

CHARLES PERKONIAN. You can call me a rat, I can call you a horse's—

Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Charles.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What's this stupid jerk think he is, thinks he can call a person anything he wants to call him, thinks he can pick on somebody half his size, quarter his size?

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, I believe we can dismiss this witness. You'll look into those allegations, of course.

Senator SKYPACK. You mean to say, you're willing to accept the word of a—

Senator MANSFIELD. I said 'look into,' Senator.

Mr. BROADBENT. All right, Charles. That door over there, please.

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Stupid jerk. I'll show that stupid jerk.

Senator MANSFIELD. Let's have our next witness, please, Mr. Broadbent.

Mr. BROADBENT. Miss Millicent P. Henley.

Monday, October 28

Senator MANSFIELD. Please stand to be sworn, ma'am.

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give here before the Standing Committee on Education, Welfare, and Public Morality will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

Miss HENLEY. I swear it.

TESTIMONY OF Miss MDLLICENT P. HENLEY, STATE OFFICE OF EDUCATION

Mr. BROADBENT. Please identify yourself, madam.

Miss HENLEY. My name is Millicent Parmelee Henley, and I am the State Supervisor for Exceptional Children.

Mr. BROADBENT. You operate out of the State Office of Education, here in the capital, is that right? You go all over the State, giving advice, laying down the law to the town school systems, right?

Miss HENLEY. That's correct.

Mr. BROADBENT. What do you understand by the term 'Exceptional Children?

Miss HENLEY. You have, first of all, the unfortunates: the retarded, the handicapped—deaf, dumb, clubfooted, spastic, so on. Our hearts go out to them. Then you have a smattering of the gifted—many of whom are emotionally disturbed.

Mr. BROADBENT. The gifted and the clubfooted are in the same category?

Miss HENLEY. They are exceptional, yes. Lord Byron, as I remember, was both—but then, we don't run across many Byrons in this State, do we?

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you tell us, please, how you happened to get into this Rudd situation?

Miss HENLEY. Mr. Cleary, the Guidance Director down in Pequot, telephoned me on Monday last to inform me that a