The Equality State

Mary Kettle’s column in the Saturday Casper Star Tribune hit me right square between the eyes. The day before her piece was published I came home from school telling the same story she told, almost verbatim. This was three days after Election Day, and I have to admit I was still on a high. One of those this is a freaking once in a lifetime event here folks highs. The voters had finally spoken, and spoken very articulately. We did something that should have been accomplished decades ago. I still get all gooey inside when I think of Obama’s acceptance speech, when I realize the doors of opportunity that finally got kicked open for millions of citizens and their children and their children.
At school, in the space I work so hard to grow feelings of trust, and care, and respect in I started hearing awful tirades from students. If you have ever worked with kids, had a kid, or even once had a face-to-face conversation with a kid, then you know. You know kids repeat what they hear from the adults in their lives. And if they hear it enough times they start to believe it. I heard “Now it’s going to be called the Black House.” From a sweet girl with a sunny disposition and a smile and hello for everyone she meets. I heard “Obama won’t outlaw guns, he’ll get us by outlawing bullets.” From a boy I have more than once commended for his caring attitude toward other students. From another girl who struggles like crazy with reading and writing I heard, “I don’t have anything against black people or anything, and I like black guys, I just think the President should be white.” Where do I even begin to try and help them see, to try and help them learn about diversity, and acceptance, and “All men are created equal?
I, like Mary Kettle, have to ask myself, is it only in Wyoming? I hope not. I guess that’s not true. I hope it is only in Wyoming. Not to put some kind of redneck curse on The Equality State, oh hell no. Just to be able to believe people in the other 49 states don’t have to listen to the hate and ignorance.

Walking Home

“I hate walking home alone, where the heck did Don go?” The distance from the State Theatre to my house was only about 6 or 7 blocks. My brother Don and I prided ourselves on the fact we could make it home, on a dead run mind you, in less than two minutes. Tonight however, as soon as the movie ended Don disappeared, I was on my own. No big deal, except I was only 9 years old.
The first couple of blocks were no challenge, full of weekend fun. A block south along Main Street. Small groups of kids and teenagers were walking to cars, or just hanging out talking. As I turned and headed west I felt a cool wind blowing in my face. Twangy country music drifted out the front door of the VFW club. The greasy, tasty smell of French fries and onion rings hung in the air like an approaching storm cloud. I remember asking my dad one time why it always smells like French fries in front of the club. “Nothing tastes better on a belly full of beer than hot, greasy French fries.”
Past the VFW club the dull blue and red glow of neon signs faded. Downtown was left behind and so was much of the light. One block west of downtown, across the street from the Catholic Church was Simonson’s funeral home. During the day it was pretty benign. If you didn’t know it was a mortuary you might actually think it was a house. As a matter of fact the East end of the funeral home was a house, occupied by the undertaker and his family.
At night however it seemed to go through a transformation. The small rectangular windows high up on the walls were filled with a dim smoky looking light. Knowing just beyond those windows some poor dead body rested quietly in a coffin was pretty unnerving. There was a big brick clock at the southwest corner of the home. It had dim lights in the face and a pointed top. A low evergreen bush, always trimmed neatly, surrounded it. Don would never admit it but I think those windows and the clock are the reason we usually ran home. It was not to see how fast we could run, it was because we were scared snotless.
As I approached the mortuary I didn’t think of running. I guess I was preoccupied, wondering where Don was and what I would tell my parents when they asked why I was walking home alone. If I told them because Don didn’t wait for me outside the theater I knew he would get in trouble and well, I would pay in the long run. If I told them I just took off after the movie I would catch hell for walking home alone at night. As it turned out I wouldn’t have to worry about it.
Just as I approached the mortuary, looking up at those low wide windows, I felt a shiver run up my spine. I thought to myself, “I think I will run.” When YEEEEOOOOOOW out from behind the clock came a loud scream and something jumping straight at me. Believe me, I was horrified, but not petrified. Crying and stuttering I took off like a shot, running faster than I have ever run. Unfortunately, whatever jumped out from behind the clock was right behind me. For only being 9 I was pretty fast, but whatever was behind me was equally as fast. I could hear the flop, flop of sneakers gaining on me. My hair was on end and I couldn’t see very well because the tears welling up in my eyes and running down my cheeks were blurring my vision.
Past Jerry Hayes house I bolted across the highway right in front of the grade school. Past the old fountain, streaking by the new wing across the alley, I was cruising. I was almost home. Just as I got by the huge lilac bushes in the front yard WHAM!! I was tackled from behind.
Don would not get off of me, nor would he quit laughing. “You were scared shitless. I can’t believe you didn’t pee your pants. That was classic.”
“Get off me you butt hole.” I was not amused.