The Child Buyer (22 page)

Senator MANSFIELD. We're on another topic right now, Jack.

Senator SKYPACK. All right. Now, miss, I want you to tell us what happened between these two kids. What was he doing to her?

Miss PERRIN. I don't know anything about it.

Senator SKYPACK. You think you're going to sit there and defy me, you got another think coming. I'll give you one more chance. Exactly what happened, this sex incident?

Miss PERRIN. I know nothing about it—except by hearsay and gossip.

Senator SKYPACK. I remind you, miss, of the initials U.C.N.T.

Senator MANSFIELD. Oh, now, Jack. That was twenty, thirty years ago. Let's not—

Senator SKYPACK. Do you remember those initials, miss? Or would you like me to air out your memory for you?

Miss PERRIN. They have nothing to do with the subject of these hearings.

Senator SKYPACK. I put it to you as a fact, and I ask you to affirm or deny the fact, that you were a ringleader of the Union of Clerks, Nurses, and Teachers in Pequot during the widespread strike here in the State back in—

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Miss PERRIN. Do I look like what you call a 'ringleader/ Senator?

Senator SKYPACK. I warn you, I have full information on your part in that business, miss—and I happen to know something about that strike. I was kept out of seventh grade for four months on account of it, right in Sudbury. I have a personal reason to feel sore about it. If you want my advice, if you don't want this examination to get uncomfortable, you'd better go along with this committee and its sundry members.

Miss PERRIN. Were you truly 'sore' about being kept out of school for four months, at the age of twelve, or thereabouts, Senator?

Senator SKYPACK. I put a fact to you a minute ago. Answer the question.

Miss PERRIN. I have no intention of answering any such question.

Senator SKYPACK. Answer the question.

Miss PERRIN. My past life is my own. I will not be bullied.

Senator SKYPACK. We're talking about a case of ... of sedition, miss.

Miss PERRIN. Senator, I think that during those four months of seventh grade that you were deprived of, you must have missed the unit of social studies that would have told you that it's no crime against the government to join a union. Have you ever heard of something called the right of association?

Senator SKYPACK. You know the history of that union as well as I do, miss, who got control of it and all.

Miss PERRIN. You're speaking of much later history.

Senator SKYPACK. It's the same union. Anyway, teachers are the one kind of people that don't have any business having a union. We put our little children in their hands—

Miss PERRIN. Mr. Chairman, I must protest. This hearing is supposed to be about the child buyer.

THE CHILD BUYER

Senator SKYPACK. By gorry, Aaron, I'm not going to have a witness sit there and—

Senator MANSFIELD. Miss Perrin, I'm very curious about one thing. Your attitude has changed very markedly since your previous appearances here—one of them just this morning. Has something developed?

Miss PERRIN. I had lunch with Mr. Jones. I had a dry martini, and . . .

Senator MANSFIELD. And?

Miss PERRIN. I now think Barry should be sold.

Senator MANSFIELD. But you were fighting this harder than anyone else.

Miss PERRIN. I've changed my mind.

Senator MANSFIELD. What changed it?

Miss PERRIN. Money.

Senator MANSFIELD. What?

Miss PERRIN. Eight thousand five hundred and thirty-four dollars. I've worked as a teacher for four and a half decades, and I've scrimped and squeezed all my life, and when that much cash falls in your lap at one time, something happens! I've always dreamed of being free. And now I am free. This morning, Senator Skypack, I was putty in those horny hands of yours, because I was terrified of losing my job. Right now you can have it. I have money to live on long enough to take a good look around; teaching isn't the only work in this world.

Senator MANSFIELD. But, Miss Perrin. What about your beliefs?

Miss PERRIN. What beliefs? How can I be positive that Barry would be better off going through the Pequot schools than he would be going off to United Lymphomilloid? Or, to put it another way, Senator, would I be the first person in American history to shade his beliefs ever so slightly on account of money? I feel so good, Mr. Chairman.

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Senator SKYPACK. I'm shocked and bitterly disappointed in you, miss.

Miss PERRIN. You're shocked, Senator?

Senator SKYPACK. My idea of a teacher was the last person in the world would do a thing like that. I mean, I remember when I was in school.

Miss PERRIN. Whereas a politician—well, one expects it of a politician, doesn't one, Senator? Even when he's elected to public office. The very word 'politician'—

Senator SKYPACK. I'm thoroughly disillusioned. Imagine a teacher!

Miss PERRIN. Want to know something? I found out a few pointers about myself from Mr. Jones today. That man can look right through your forehead and sec every thought that's in there, and some ghosts and shadows you don't know are there, too; it's amazing. You've been trying to discredit me through that teachers' strike, Senator Skypack. Mr. Jones made me realize that in that whole mishmash I was a leader who tagged along behind. I was a patsy. I always have been. In the everlasting committee work we have in school I've always found some reason, ever since that strike, why I couldn't take on a chairmanship, but I've felt badly cheated if I wasn't allowed to do all the hard work and then give credit to someone else who didn't deserve it. Mr. Jones asked me about my student days, and I began telling how I waited on table to earn part of my tuition at Winship's Normal School, and how much—aside from the fact that watching people snap at their forks used to take away my appetite—I enjoyed the job; I was good at it; I was always right there with extra butter—I forced food on sated people like the keeper with the ramrod who feeds the lazy big snakes at the zoo. Tou're the Little Helper, aren't you?' the child buyer said. He said he bet I cried buckets when I saw a movie about Florence Nightingale or Dr. Kildare. I do! I do! I soak my handkerchief. I can't stand

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to criticize other people, for fear of hurting them, yet I always agree with criticism of myself—I guess I get some kind of gloomy kick out of taking it nobly, with a mea culpa. I never make demands. I never show off. Mr. Jones had me ticked off in every particular—he's got those brace-and-bit eyes! Hate storms, appease bullies, run away from quarrels. I'm not good enough, so I have these spurts of Ovaltine or beef broth or extra orange juice. Senator, you were dying to corner me about that strike. Sure, I was in charge of the Strike Committee in Pequot, but I was no more a leader of that strike than you are a statesman, sir. I'm not trying to deny anything; I just mean that people travel under false colors a lot of the time. This was the Depression. We teachers had a hard time. Six hundred dollars a year. Have you ever been hungry, Senator Skypack? Have you ever bitten your hand till it bled, to offset the pain of a knot in your stomach that came from not eating enough? I'll bet you haven't. Let me tell you, I suffered—not from hunger, I could stand that—but from pity: pity, on the one hand, for some of the kids from the Intervale section, whose families were unspeakably poor, and pity, on the other hand, for some of my fellow teachers who I imagined were worse off than 1.1 agonized so much everyone decided I must be some kind of saint, and they put me in charge—I mean in name only. I was the ideal front: I couldn't say no. What were you trying to prove, Senator—that I was some kind of radical? I'll tell you exactly what I was: I was trying to be agreeable. I even tried to be agreeable with the School Board. I wanted everyone to be happy, except for unworthy me. ... I was about as much a leader as Barry Rudd is. By the way, did Mr. Cleary ever tell you how Barry got on the talent-search chart for leadership?

Mr. BROADBENT. No. How did he?

Miss PERRIN. They put him on because on a test form called the Give-and-Take Sociometric Peer-Rating Instrument he came

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out very badly on followership. Ergo, he must be strong on leadership.

Mr. BROADBENT. Mrs. Rudd told us that a certain Miss Bagas, his teacher in first grade, said he had splendid followership.

Miss PERRIN. He got over it, bless him—something I never did, until lunch today. Anyway, I think now my turn has come.

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Chairman, I'd remind you we've got a heavy docket here.

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, let's move along. Thank you, Miss Perrin. I can't help saying, though, I tend to share my colleague's surprise that a teacher would take money like that to go back on her values. I feel let down.

Miss PERRIN. And I feel just great! Keep plugging away at the whole truth, Senator Skypack. And cheer up, Senator Voyolko. Tomorrow will be a less puzzling day.

Senator VOYOLKO. Tomorrow? What we got to do tomorrow, Mr. Chairman?

Mr. BROADBENT. Dr. Frederika Gozar. Bring her in.

Senator MANSFIELD. You've been sworn, Dr. Gozar; please take the witness's chair again.

TESTIMONY OF DR. FREDERIKA GOZAR, PRINCIPAL, LINCOLN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, PEQUOT

Mr. BROADBENT. We're trying today, Doctor, to get some information about the Rudd-Renzulli episode. Can you help us out on that?

Dr. GOZAR. Indeed I can, sir. Better than anybody. It was I who interrupted the little lambs.

Senator SKYPACK. By gorry, we finally struck paydirt.

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you be so good as to tell us what happened?

Dr. GOZAR. Surely.

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Senator SKYPACK. You mean, no argument about it?

Dr. GOZAR. Senator, you look as if you were about to sit down to a T-bone steak.

Mr. BROADBENT. Proceed, Doctor.

Dr. GOZAR. Let's see, this was last Wednesday afternoon, during the sixth period. I had just completed my inspection of the furnaces and basement areas—something I do every day at two o'clock sharp—and I returned to my office. I should tell you that the main storeroom for school supplies adjoins my office; I got everything stowed in there thirty years ago, so I could keep a weather eye on withdrawals, and I'll warrant you, the Board hasn't ever been able to say that Lincoln was a wasteful school, I've seen to that. The first few minutes after I got back from the cellar I was preoccupied with something or other at my desk, and it wasn't till near the end of the period, which incidentally is a recess for Miss Perrin's room, among others—it wasn't till five minutes or so before the bell that I happened to look over on the floor by the storeroom door and saw something black, and I went over and picked it up, and it was a patent-leather Mary Jane.

Senator SKYPACK. A what?

Dr. GOZAR. A girl's shoe, with a little strap that buttons over the instep. ... I then noticed a crack of light around the storeroom door, which was shut, and I entered. And there they were.

Senator SKYPACK. In the act.

Dr. GOZAR. I don't know just what act you have in mind, Senator. These are ten-year-olds.

Mr. BROADBENT. What was happening?

Dr. GOZAR. Whatever had been happening was over. We have a utility cart, on big casters, for the custodian to use for moving heavy loads, which is about three and a half feet long and has two shelves. Florence Renzulli was prostrate on the upper shelf, when I first flung open the door, and at the sight of me she

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squealed and wriggled onto her side and doubled up and began tugging at her dress.

Mr. BROADBENT. And Master Rudd?

Dr. GOZAR. Master Rudd, as you call him, was standing at the foot of the cart, bent over Mistress Renzulli.

Mr. BROADBENT. What had he been doing?

Dr. GOZAR. Just a sec. We'll have to catch a glimpse of his regalia first. Barry was all in white, except for his hands. He'd copped one of the white gowns, one of those toga-like things, that the school nurse keeps in case she has to do an examination down to the buff; he must have sneaked it out of her cabinet, lie had on a square white cloth cap, like the one the carpenter wears in The Walrus and the Carpenter/ according to Ten-niel—I think he may have made it for the purpose. And he was wearing a handkerchief across his nose and mouth, bandit style. On his hands was a pair of red rubber gloves that I guess he'd brought from home.

Senator MANSFIELD. In other words, he'd been playing doctor?

Dr. GOZAR. Exactly. I guess he'd been giving Miss Renzulli a gynecologic once-over—something she may need for keeps at a younger age than most young ladies, I fear me. She's the most willing child.

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand you raised merry Ned over this incident.

Dr. GOZAR. To tell you the truth, I would have let it pass, but just at the wrong moment Mr. Busybody Cleary, having some overblown errand for me, walked in my office and caught a glimpse of Barry removing his rubber gloves and Florence straightening her clothing and me standing on the sidelines sending in the plays. Mr. Cleary, who's frightfully psychological, began to tremble and perspire, not out of concern for the girl, you understand, but because he saw he could make character for himself out of the incident, and I knew I had to take a firm

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stand out of plain self-defense. I know the town of Pequot. I could hear the palates already twanging as the gossip readied itself for flight from fence to fence. So that's how a trifle got to l)e a famous case.

Senator SKYPACK. You call that a trifle? A girl in that position on a table, all rumpled like that! Practically speaking, bare!

Dr. GOZAR. It was a trifle. Take my word for it. Either it was really scientific curiosity on Barry's part, or else—well, there was something odd about it: the location of this bit of research, right alongside my office, and the shoe lying there inside my office, as if it had been installed, like a small monument of some kind, right where there would be the most splendid public display. I don't know, something funny. In any case—a trifle. Except for the thrill our Guidance Director got out of the thing, which removed it from the trifling category.