Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover (16 page)

The lights in the room dimmed. A large screen dropped from the ceiling over the stage. Conversations around the room slowed and almost stopped. A picture appeared on the screen. It was a guy about my age. There was no indication of who he was. I didn’t recognize him and didn’t think he went to our school.

The first picture was replaced with another picture, this one of an adult male—a cute male—who was shown laughing at something. That picture faded and was replaced with another picture, this one of a girl about my age. She wasn’t smiling. No, in fact she looked rather dour and unhappy.

This continued for maybe a dozen pictures before it stopped. I was shocked to see Bill and the principal walk onto the stage from the wings. The principal didn’t look overly happy. Bill had his standard poker face on so I couldn’t read him. The principal took a seat beside the lectern. Bill went directly to the lectern, arranged some notes, and then looked out at the audience. He stepped out from behind the lectern and moved to the front center of the stage.

Rather than start speaking when everyone expected him to start, Bill simply stared at the audience. It almost looked as if he was searching for someone, but it wasn’t clear. He seemed to be studying everyone very intently.

With no introduction, Bill’s voice suddenly came through the sound system loud and clear. “Good morning. Some of you know who I am, but not everyone. My name is Bill Cromwell. I’ve known a lot of you for most of my life. I’ve run track with you, played basketball with you, served on Student Council with some of you, sat in classes with others of you.”

Bill looked out at the audience, paused, and then said, “You’re probably all wondering what we’re doing here this morning. The answer is simple. Some shit went down here yesterday….”

The principal started to rise from his seat. We could hear him say something that Bill could apparently hear but we could not. The principal didn’t seem to have a microphone so his voice was not amplified through the sound system. Bill looked at him—no, Bill glared at him. That was the only word that worked. Something passed between them with that look. I don’t know what, but the principal sat back down.

Bill turned back to the audience and continued. “As I said, some shit went down here yesterday. It involves every single one of us in this room right now.” Speaking slowly, clearly, and distinctly, he said, “And it can never happen again.” Bill stepped to the left side of the stage and continued. “The administration wanted to bring in a bunch of experts to talk with us, but I asked that we have a chance to talk to each other directly before anything like that. That may still happen, but I wanted to talk to you first.” Bill was speaking directly to the people in the audience. He wasn’t reading any notes. He wasn’t following any visible script. And he was speaking so confidently it was amazing. And he was good too.

“Yesterday afternoon several of you did something so
stupid
that I still can’t believe you did it. Several of you attacked a fellow student in the bathroom. A lot of you have heard about it already. There’s probably a whole bunch of different versions circulating around. Some of them are probably way off base. So let me tell you what happened.” He turned to head back toward the center of the stage but stopped and turned back toward the audience, as if he had suddenly remembered something important. “Oh, and while I know exactly who was in the room and who did what, I’m not naming names—yet.” The principal once again visibly didn’t like something in what Bill had just said, but Bill seemed to ignore him and simply continue. Again he stopped, “Oh, and don’t anybody try to leave. You’ll be stopped.”

Bill did something unexpected then. He jumped down off the stage to the area in front of the first row in the center. He grabbed something that none of us could see, walked up to what seemed like a random person, and threw whatever he held at that person. It was a girl. I didn’t know her. She screamed. Bill ignored her and walked on. He returned to the front, grabbed something else, and headed up the other aisle about halfway. The look on his face when he passed was ferociously focused. He stopped, picked another person at random, and threw something at them as well. The guy yelled in surprise.

Bill returned to the front, grabbed something else, and returned to the stage. He suddenly started running toward the principal, screaming something at the top of his lungs, and threw something at the man. The cup he had been holding was filled with confetti. The principal, like everyone else, expected to get wet. The poor man cringed and tried to move out of the way. So, aside from his heart rate doubling, no damage was done.

There was apparently nothing more he wanted to throw. He returned to the center of the stage and stood quietly for a moment with his hands folded behind his back, waiting for people to quiet back down. The audience was very startled at what he had done, and everybody was trying to find out what had happened.

“Were you surprised?” he asked. “Did you like being singled out? Did you like being attacked? Hmm? No! Of course you were surprised. Nobody knew what I was going to do. I hadn’t told anybody what I planned. The principal didn’t know. Nobody knew except me. I planned it and only I knew about it. Oh, and don’t worry. What I threw the first two times were only two very old, tired Nerf balls, and in each case I aimed for a spot beside a person so all they had to deal with was shock. The contents of the cup I threw here on the stage was only confetti, so aside from picking pieces of paper out of his hair for the rest of the day, again no harm done.

“But yesterday harm
was
done.” A picture of my face appeared on the screen for the entire school to see. Oh damn! Oh crap! Oh sweet Jesus! Someone had apparently taken a picture of me on the floor of the bathroom before I was moved. That picture was replaced by an even worse one, one that showed me in the nurse’s office before I had regained consciousness. This picture showed me bleeding. Head injuries bleed a lot so I looked dreadful, but that was apparently the reaction Bill wanted.

He let the audience murmur for a moment before continuing. “You did this.” At first I thought he was talking to a specific person, the person who had slammed my head into the wall, but I couldn’t see a specific person who was the focus of his attention.

“Yes, that’s right.” He pointed at someone in the first row. “You did this.” He pointed at the screen when he said “this.” He jumped down off the stage again and walked up the right-hand-side aisle. He stopped midway up the aisle and pointed at some guy. “You did this.”

The guy he was pointing at was appalled. “No, I didn’t!” he shouted.

“Yes, you did. You weren’t in the room. You didn’t slam his head into the wall and nearly break his right shoulder. But you did this.” He walked on, pointed at several additional people around the room and kept repeating, “You did this,” over and over and over again. As quick as he started he finished and was back up on the stage.

“None of the people I just pointed at were in the room when this assault occurred. And yes, it was an assault. But every one of you did this just as if you were in the room and personally shoved his head into the wall. Every one of you!” he shouted. “You did this when you heard a joke about a fat person and didn’t object. You did this when someone called another person a fag and you didn’t object. You did this when you listened to a friend talk about ‘bitches and hos’ and you didn’t object. When you let hate happen without objecting, it’s just as if you did it yourself.”

Bill paced a few steps. “I’ve lived in this town all my life. I started school here. I’ve gone through all the grades with a lot of you. We’ve known each other for
80 percent of our lives
. But yesterday you disgusted me. Yesterday you made me feel ashamed to be classmates with you.

“Yesterday some of you jumped a fellow student, called him a faggot, told him ‘his kind’ wasn’t welcome here, and seriously injured him.” Bill turned back to the screen and pointed at the picture of my bleeding face once again. I was nearly sick with the sight of it, and I had lived through it. I wanted to look around and see how others were reacting, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place.

“I thought I knew you guys. I thought we were friends. I thought you were better than this. But clearly I don’t know you as well as I thought. When you stand by and let something like this happen
, it’s just wrong
! When you take part in something like this, it’s just wrong! It’s not just criminal, it’s wrong!
What the hell is wrong with you people?
” he shouted. “Huh? What? When did you turn into hate driven
animals
? Huh? I’d like to know. I’d really like to know.”

Before anybody could react the picture on the screen changed. It was a picture of a woman. She looked familiar. She looked something like Bill so it must have been some relative of his. Then it hit me! It was his mom! She just looked different because she was younger and was smiling. She looked happy, she looked vibrant. She looked alive and loving life.

That picture disappeared and was immediately replaced with another picture. This picture was the same woman but… not. This time the woman, Bill’s mother, was a mess. Her left eye was black and blue and swollen. She had a major bruise on her right cheek. She had some cuts and bruises elsewhere. People were stunned by the image.

“That’s my mom,” Bill said. He showed the first picture again and then showed the other picture. “And that’s my mom.”

Another picture appeared, this one of Bill looking like the Bill I knew and loved. It was a casual picture from the yearbook which showed him smiling and laughing—happy. And then that picture was replaced with another one. People around the room gasped. One girl cried out. A lot of people murmured. He showed the before and then the after once again.

Those pictures were replaced with a picture of a happy-looking young woman. I didn’t recognize her. The happy photo was replaced with a photo of her beaten and bruised. Then that one disappeared to be replaced by a police photo that showed a white chalk outline of a body on a floor.

He put all seven pictures up on the screen at once.

“Hate kills, you dipshits!
Hate kills!
You participated in a hate crime yesterday, and again today when you didn’t report what happened. How many of you went to the principal and reported the incident? Seeing the incident? Hearing about the incident? Huh? None. That’s right. Zero. When no one came forward, you told me that you not only participated in the assault yesterday, but you’re still doing it today!

“I’d like to know when you all became so filled with hate? Huh? What did it? Did somebody beat the crap out of you and therefore you want to make somebody else hurt just as bad as you were hurt? Huh? I’ve been there in terms of being beaten.” He pointed at the screen. “And that’s just one time when it happened. I’ve lost count of how many times it happened over the years.”

Bill looked down for a moment and stood quietly. “I’ve known you folks all my life. Some of us are straight. Some of us are gay. Some of us are bisexual.
And it doesn’t matter!
We are what we are and what we’ve always been. Nobody wakes up some day and says, ‘Oh, I think I’ll be gay today!’ No. Doesn’t happen that way. People don’t just decide one day after checking everybody out that ‘Oh! I think I’ll be straight!’ Doesn’t work that way.” Shouting now, Bill continued, “Some people are gay. Some people are straight.
Get over it!

“I’ve heard all the usual horseshit from guys. ‘Oh, some gay guy is gonna check out my ass in the shower!’ News flash for you guys. I’ve seen your asses, and trust me, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Well, maybe with one or two exceptions. But most of them are pimply and gross.” The audience chuckled. Damn, he was good. This man knew how to make his point and he knew how to capture the audience’s attention and hold onto it but not push it completely over the edge. I was so proud of him.

“How many times have gay guys jumped you in the shower and forced themselves on you? Huh? How many? None. Never happened. Doesn’t happen.
Never gonna happen
! Simple as that. And if a guy looks at your ass, take it as a compliment! If you’ve got enough sex appeal to be attractive to both men and women, then damn, you’re pretty hot! And you should feel proud—not pissed.
Bask in it!

“If you are handsome or beautiful, people are going to look at you. If you walk down a hall, people are going to look at you. Fine. No problem. If people shove you against a wall and threaten your life, that’s not fine. No. Then you’ve crossed a major line. When you assault somebody and threaten somebody’s life and well-being, their safety, then you’ve crossed the line, and you’re no longer safe to be a member of society because we have to wonder, who are you going to lash out at next? Who’s gonna be the focus of your anger the next time? Are you going to be sexually frustrated at the end of a date and then rape a girl because she didn’t want to have sex with you? Are you going to rob a liquor store because they wouldn’t give you free booze?

“Hate is wrong, people! Hate kills! And I will not be associated with people who condone hate and in effect encourage and facilitate hate. When you do that, you’re no better than the person who did the actual physical assault.”

Bill jumped down from the stage again and walked to a random person.

“Do you know me?

“No.”

“Do you hate me?”

“No.”

“Do you know me?” he asked another.

“No.”

“Do you hate me?”

“No.”

He walked to another person. “Do you know me?”

“Yep. All my life.” The guy was one of his buddies.

“Do you hate me?”

“Well, duh. Of course,” the guy joked.

“Oh, that’s just because I’m more handsome than you are.”

“But I’ve got a bigger dick,” the guy said. The people around him heard and laughed.

Bill laughed too. “I’ve never checked it out, so I’ll have to take your word on that one.”

Bill moved on and repeated he same question probably half a dozen times, each time getting “No” as an answer to the hate question, half the time getting “yes” to the question about knowing him.