Freddogg Off The Chain

I was sitting in the West Chester State library circa 1969 when this odd campus character named “Johnny” came walking past wearing a sign taped on the front and back that said “Spit On Me.” Johnny trolled by me several times but I didn’t surface in the wash to check out his baits.

Johnny was small and slender, dark haired with that dark perfectly outlined stubble thing going on. Finally, he sat down across from me—his target-- in a library lounging chair and just kept staring.

“What’s up man, ”I asked him.
“My name is Johnny, ”he said.
“I’m happy for you, ”I responded.

“I’m seven years old, ”Johnny said. I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll be eight in June.”
“At least you weren’t ate before you were seven,” I said, sinking to an old joke my grandfather told me when I was six.

I knew Johnny was beyond odd and campus rumor had it that he was a masochist and only one of 10 people on this Phys Ed campus who could spell it.

There are many behavior disorders that begin in childhood and just keep hanging in there and the overriding most debilitating common aspect among them is that the afflicted person doesn’t sense or realize that “normal” society is populated by some assholes that are just flat out evil and capable of instantaneous victimization.

I really dislike and don’t understand "normal" individuals who on the spur of the moment will pounce on the weakness of another in a spontaneous aniti social outburst. In my opinion that is really sick and there is nothing good to say about it.

Johnny crawled into the custodians’ closet in an old Serpentine Stone classroom building one dreary morning and was able to stick most of his hand under the door and out into the hall during class change so people could step on it.

I saw several testosterone driven, over compensating, small penis Phys Ed guys, running and long jumping onto Johnny’s hand laughing in horse teeth ecstasy.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled the fire alarm then went and straddle guarded the exposed hand because the closet door was locked.

People left the building but Johnny and I stayed. I admitted to pulling the alarm to save a hand that would have been crushed for life and demanded to talk to the Dean of Something about Johnny.

I went off on the guy for allowing this disturbed seven going on eight year old adolescent with a beard to serve as a campus repository for all the aberrant abusers, those seven going on eight year old Mental Agers from the Stanford Binet Intelligence Test, those creeps who were two standard deviations to the left of humane behavior.

The situation was quickly resolved as Johnny was thrown out of school thanks to me I guess. You just can’t stick your hand on the floor of a highly trafficked hallway and expect people to walk around it.

Weeks later a guy at a party on his eighth mug of beer came up to me and said, ”I stepped on that bitch, so what?’ And all his horse teethed friends whinnied but I knew that someday god would get them back because that’s the way he rolls.

Welcome to the gates of heaven! Here's Johnny!
Peace Freddogg