Date: Sat, 30 Mar 1996 10:27:53 +0100 (MET) To: marxism-AT-jefferson.village.Virginia.EDU From: malecki-AT-algonet.se (Robert Malecki) Subject: Reality and Child abuse! Reality and Child abuse! Nightcourt... My mom had a real tough time raising three kids on the salary she received for being a telegram typist. Yeah, back in those days there was still telegrams. That was why my mom probably married Harry. Harry was an Italian. He worked on the docks in Hoboken New Jersey. He was a union man. The good thing about Harry was that he brought home the bananas! Yes he did whole stalks of them, from the boats he was unloading. He also brought home the pistachio nuts. Whole sacks of them, unroasted, this was part of the booty "taxes" that dockworkers got on the side of their paycheck. Harry was a drunk. He drank enormous amounts of whiskey and beer. All the guys who worked on the docks were pretty heavy drinkers. The docks were a tough place and during the fifties a man working on the docks never knew if there would be work that day. They would all go down to the docks and see if there was any work and if there was no work they went to the bar. There the dockworkers sat all day long. Another good thing about Harry, I remember, is the time we were living i in a bungalow on Staten Island. There was this huge storm and when we woke up in the morning there were boats floating by the window of the bungalow! We had to be evacuated by rowboat. I remember Harry so well standing in the back of the boat holding our cat. I remember seeing peoples furniture floating by as we rowed away to safety. Well that was the good stuff about Harry. However I hated Harry. He was a dangerous man when drunk. And especially to us kids Harry was a danger. And many a night I would in the future have to sleep out under cars because Harry would come home drunk and proceed to beat the shit out of us kids. I almost forgot. There was one other good thing about Harry. Him and my mom produced Ruth, my little sister. I heard ten or fifteen years ago that she is an elementary school teacher in Florida! Yeah, I hated Harry. He was as strong as a bull and when he beat us up it really hurt. I still remember the blue marks from Harry. Harry had to go sooner or later. Unfortunately for me, a number of years passed before the opportunity to get rid of Harry presented itself. Mostly because my brother and I were to small to take on Harry. So for years we had to put up with Harry's bullshit. But when my brother was sixteen and I was twelve the time to take care of Harry came at last.... This particular evening, Harry was down at the bar as usual and pretty drunk. The night before my brother and I had gotten beaten. We were in the bathroom talking about shooting rats and Harry thought we were talking about shooting him. Anyhow Harry called up from the bar and said that my brother and I were to cook dinner for him. My mom was working overtime as usual. So my brother told him to go fuck himself, there ain,t going to be any more dinners for Harry. The night before my brother had borrowed a rubber batong from our Aunt. She had it for her job taking care of people in the insane asylum. It looked like a batong that magicians use, about 15 inches long and white caps on each end. I ran and got my pumplamp, that I had made in woodshop in school and my brother and I waited for Harry to come home for dinner. When Harry came home my brother was standing on the stairs. Harry could not see him. So he came charging after me. My brother came up behind him and whacked Harry over the head a couple of times with the batong. My brother hit Harry hard and Harry didn't even go down! Instead he turned and went after my brother. Then I went after Harry and hit him with the pumplamp. He turned again and came after me and then my brother went after him again.Harry turned again and I hit him as hard as I could with the lamp. It smashed into small pieces. By this time there was a lot of blood everywhere, Harry's blood. However Harry turned again and came after me and then my brother hit him again. This time Harry went down to his knees. We stood there my brother and I looking at Harry. We could see that he was hurt pretty bad. Harry began to get up and we thought, oh no, Christ. But Harry went towards the stairs and up them to his room. We were scared. My brother called my aunt and told her what happened. She said, "Go hide the batong" and that she would ring to the police. There was no noise from upstairs where Harry was, but we told the police, who had then arrived on the scene, that there had been a fight and that I had hit Harry with the lamp. We said that Harry was upstairs and that we were afraid that Harry was going to kill us. Harry had this government issue colt 45 he had brought home after the war. The police went upstairs and in a few minutes came down with Harry. His whole head was wrapped up in towels. Away the cops went with Harry. Then my aunt turned up and calmed us down. We started cleaning up the mess before my mom came home. A half hour or so passed, by this time it was seven o'clock in the evening. My mom came home and she began crying. Then the cops came back and arrested me for assault and battery on Harry. On Staten Island, in New York City, they had night court. For me, being arrested when I was twelve years old, was a big adventure. Not only did I not feel like a criminal, I felt great. Finally, after all these years of beatings and sleeping out, in and under cars, I got my revenge. Revenge, especially when you do not understand the dynamics of the situation, is and was sweet. I was taken into the courtroom by the police. It was unbelievable! The courtroom was absolutely full of just about all the misery of society.Drunks, battered mothers, battered kids, car thieves, battered people all screaming or crying out their misery at the same time. My mom and aunt was there. My brother wasn't there, my aunt thought it best under the circumstances. Harry had not arrived at night court as of yet. He was at the hospital getting sewed up. Night court proceeded under its own momentum. Justice was handed out on a five minute basis. That is about the time each case received before the judge. Nothing like the O.J. Simpson trial going on today. Where the public can get the day to day goodies, live, from the hysterical media teams. Nor did the witnesses in night court get any safty invitations of large sums of money for their story. No not at all. Night court was a court for the dregs of New York City. A public attorney, who took ten or fifteen cases on the spot, is the only one who was making any money in night court.Case after case, the judge dealt out justice. 30 days in jail! Remanded to the custody of: Sleep it off in the tank. And so on and so. Finally they called my case. Harry was brought in helped by the cops. He had bandages all over his head. Then somebody said my name and I went up to the front of the courtroom.They brought Harry up to the front of the courtroom as the plaintiff. Then somebody started reading up the charges of assault and battery against me. The judge just started laughing. Then the judge said "case dismissed" and adjourned night court. That was it! I think the judge just looked at me and Harry, I was about 50 pounds and Harry was a good 180 pounds. I walked out a free person. Harry never returned to the house. About a year later he died. His lever after all the years of drinking collapsed. Without a functioning lever you die. Harry weighed about 80 pounds when he died. Well what can I say, I have no tears for Harry. Still today I have no tears for Harry. However I understand Harry's situation much better today then I did then. He was a dockworker. He was a union man. When there was no work he got drunk and beat us kids and my mom. He took it out on us kids, his frustration, his hate, of the system that never gives dockworkers a chance. He did not know that. If Harry had been politically conscious about things it might have gone another way. But I don't hate Harry any longer, I hate the system that created Harry. That system sees working class people as pieces of meat to be exploited so that the rich can get richer. Harry's politics, were the politics of despair. But it hurt! Oh yeah how it fucking hurt. Just like blacks who later on in history began with "burn baby burn" out of despair, which led till a whole lot of blacks getting thrown in jail. That was painful also. However I understand today that Harry was not my enemy. He was a victim! Just as many blacks rotting in Americas jails are victims. My razor thinks I am a nutcase talking about all this shit. I mean who cares if black people go around burning up the ghettos. Who cares about how many drunken dockworkers beat the shit out of kids. My razor thinks that this has nothing to do with shaving whiskers, just a lot of sentimental bullshit. Well it is not! The terrible thing about it all is that it is not bullshit. It is a reality today in America. This stuff is still going on today. Maybe not nightcourt, but the drunk workers kicking the shit out of their kids. And the cities will burn again in despair. Fuck, will we ever learn who the real enemy is? My razor says stop the sentimental crap and get back to what's really going on in real life.My razor is curious to see if there has been any reaction to the letter in Chapter two. --- from list marxism-AT-lists.village.virginia.edu ---
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