By 1980 bullying gave way to overt racism. I guess Americans thought, Vietnam's over; we can go back to sarcasm and cynicism. But America never saw that kind of negativity prior to 1975. 

I remember when Matt Lawler put a choke hold on Ngoc Ta during study hall. She would have been my wife then, if I stood up for her honor. But I was a punk. I watched Matt's face turn bright red. He was choking with all his might. 

Then I saw him later, when Malik Cumbo got ahold of him. Matt's face turned bright red again, but for different reasons. Malik was the kind of guy who could climb two ropes at the same time in PE. My first girlfriend left me for Malik. 

Anyway, Matt had the west Indian maidservant answer the door of his brownstone, one day during a class field trip. I guess he was used to privilege. Privilege was leaving Brooklyn in the seventies. I don't know what the second fight was about, but Matt showed up to art class puffy; puffy eyes, puffy lips, eyes red and tearing. 

Neither Matt nor Malik knew anything about our good versus evil, schoolyard gang fights from 1974-1976. But neither of them gave a damn. Lawler had his own John McEnroe issues. Malik was just a thug, new to a private Brooklyn school. He kind of looked like Al. B. Sure from the side, teeth sticking out slightly with curly, curly hair. Not curly, like a tightly packed afro.

Me and the good guys had the chance, and we should have finished the job. One time my worse bully tried to jump on me underneath the monkey bars. He missed, and I had him underneath. His head was just past the thick, rubber mat. I banged it on the black, spray painted cement one good time.