Date: Fri, 7 Dec 2001 22:06:00 -0500
From: Sequoyah <sequoyah@charter.net>
Subject: The Concord Five--Chapter Five

		    ASP--The Concord Five--Chapter Five
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				 Comments

Thanks to all who have written concerning the ongoing story. Your
encouragement is most welcome.

I have a new e-mail address sequoyah@charter.net. With the change, I am
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	    ASP--The Concord Five--Chapter Five--John Stevenson

My last period art class is not my most exciting one. It is mostly freshman
who take art to get out of something else. They are not at all interested,
for the most part, and spend the hour horsing around. Instead of teaching,
I find myself trying to maintain some kind of order and not have too many
students leaving the class with painted hair or faces. Today was especially
bad since there had been a pep rally just before class and the hormones and
hyperactivity were both running high.

As I took a brush from a girl just in time to prevent her giving a
girlfriend a blue face, I thought about the previous year's last period
class. It was a dream class. It had many great students including Luke
Larsen, until he attempted suicide and changed his art into an independent
study. I guess Luke was that miracle student, the one each teacher is
promised in a lifetime of teaching. Well, maybe they had not been very
talented for the most part, but were interested and hard-working. Now what
I really wanted was the bell to ring and have these feral teenagers to go
screaming and rushing out the door, hyped-up for a football game and
more. As soon as their over-sexed bodies were out the door, it would be
home and a stiff drink for me and no thoughts of school for two days.

Shortly before time for the bell, the intercom crackled and Ms. Jones
called my name. When I answered, she said, "Mr. Stevenson, excuse me for
interrupting. I know it's Friday and you want to get home, but I need to
see you in my office immediately after the bell. It's extremely important."

I answered that I would be there, and wondered just what could be so
important as to keep me from getting out of here in a nanosecond after the
last bell. Damn, I wanted to get the hell out of here! The bell rang and
what I had thought were totally uncivilized animals became worse as they
started shouting and racing out the door. Only Keith Lewis, a poor senior
caught in this zoo, spoke as he walked out, saying, "Have a nice weekend,
Mr. Stevenson."

"You too, Keith. Any new CDs this week?"

"Nothing I think worth playing, just a bunch of kid groups doing hip
hop. Trash in my book. See ya."

"Yea," I replied and turned to walk down the hall to Ms. Jones' office.

When I walked in her office, Ms. Jones' face told me this was not something
unimportant. "Sit down, John, I think you'll need to be sitting," she said,
and gave me a very weak smile. "I want you to read this before I say a
word... and I want you to read it all before you speak." She then handed me
a folded piece of lined notebook paper.

On the outside of the paper, written in pencil, was, "Two Miz Joines,
Independunce Hi scool Princeipul". I unfolded the sheet and read the
inside: "Miz Joines U got one of them cock sucking sex perverts learning
kids and i don't mean no 3 Rs. i mean cock sucking and sech. ef you don't
believe it ask that keith lewis who hes been fucking and some other queers
he's been wit." It was signed, "a christian frend of his". Under that was
written, "that means in his holy name to. his holy name, him who hates
perverts. read yor bible."

Ms. Jones was right. I needed to be sitting down. This was a bolt out of
the blue. Had something similar happened when I first started teaching, I
would have been out on my ear without any recourse. Then I had been very
careful not to let anyone know I was gay. I still didn't parade it. Of
course, anyone who knew Michael and me knew we were more than close
friends--although we certainly were close friends. But now, after all that
Millie had done, in addition to law suits which gave gays some
protection--not enough, but some--I couldn't believe what I had just read.

I looked up at Ms. Jones, and saw she was looking directly at me. "John, I
have only one question to ask and I hope and trust you will tell me the
truth. Have you ever so much as kissed a student on the mouth?"

What kind of question was this? I had been accused by some ignorant asshole
of seducing students and Ms. Jones wanted to know if I had ever kissed one?
Had she lost her mind? I didn't know what she was up to, but I looked back
at her and said, "Ms. Jones, I have never kissed a student, period. For
years I was reluctant to allow a student to hug me, but they wanted to and
I finally came to allow it, but it's always the student, not me, who
initiates it."

"That's all I wanted to know, John. I'm not sure who is behind this,
although I have some ideas. I don't think it will stop with this note. A
similar note has gone to the school board already. So far as I am
concerned, the matter is closed, but it isn't and I know it. I do want you
to know that I never believed a word of it. I have known you too well to
even think that you might abuse your position as a teacher. I am behind you
one hundred percent, but you need to know that this is probably not the end
of the matter. I wish I didn't have to say this, but I think you need a
lawyer should this go any further. Call Millie. I have already talked to
her and she is livid. I am sure she can recommend someone. John, you don't
know how sorry I am that this has happened. You are a gifted teacher--even
when given a room full of freshman," she smiled. "You have given much to
this school and this community and I, for one, will fight to keep you here
and teaching. And there's no accusation of you hitting on principals," she
said, walked from behind her desk and gave me a big hug. "Know I'm for you,
John Stevenson!" she said, hugging me again.

I didn't think I could face Michael just yet. I needed time to get myself
together. I left the school and just drove out into the country. It was a
beautiful early-October day with just a hint of autumn, but I couldn't
enjoy it very much. What would happen if, somehow or other, the person
responsible for the note was to win and I lose my teaching position?
Michael had given up a nice place and business in Charleston to stay in
Concord with me. What if, suddenly, there was no reason for me to stay?
Where would I go? Would he go with me? To tell the truth, recently we
hadn't been the two happy lovebirds we had been at the start of our
relationship. He had some habits which just annoyed the shit out of me, and
when I spoke to him about them he tried to pretend they were not
important. And he's always wanting to go out and I just want to have a
quiet time at home after dealing with kids all day. To tell the truth, we
hadn't been working at our relationship and it showed, especially now that
I really needed him, his understanding and support.

I finally realized that I was going to become a basket case any second
unless I could feel Michael's arms around me and hear his assurances that
everything would be all right. I was shocked when I looked at my watch and
saw that it was after 6:30. Michael would be beside himself with worry and
I wouldn't blame him for being angry at me for being so
inconsiderate. Dreading seeing him and yet knowing that without him I
couldn't handle this mess, I turned around and headed home.

When I walked in and saw Michael, I completely lost it. I just ran to him
and he took me in his arms and hugged me close, asking what was wrong. He
held me tight and rocked me in his arms until I got control of myself.

When I had stopped crying, I looked into his wonderful eyes and thought
what a fool I had been for letting little things get in the way of our
relationship. He was what I needed and what would see me though this
mess. I smiled and then kissed him tenderly.

I showed Michael a copy of the letter and after he read it he said, "This
is what Millie has been calling about". "She has called every half-hour
since school was out."

Michael had prepared a wonderful dinner for us and, since I was so late,
much of it was past its prime. After he had read the letter he, as I,
hardly felt like eating, so the dinner went even further down the road of
no return. Finally we did eat a bit, and Michael fixed two expressos and
brought them and a slice of sinfully rich chocolate cake to the den where I
was sitting. As he handed me the cake he smiled and said, "The condemned
man's last meal?".

"Not so long as I have breath to fight," I said, and meant it. He almost
spilled his coffee as he leaned over to kiss me.

"Or so long as I have breath," he said as he stood.

We had almost finished our dessert when the phone rang. I was almost afraid
to answer it and was relieved when Michael did. After he said "Hello," he
handed me the phone.

"John here," I spoke into the phone.

"John, Millie. Tell Michael to turn on that dreadful speakerphone mess. I
want both of you to hear this."

"Millie wants the speaker-phone on, Michael," I said. Michael reached over
and pushed the button and I handed him the phone. "Ok, Millie, shoot."

"John, I don't think I need to say it, but I will. I don't believe for a
moment you have ever been anything but professional and helpful to your
students--and everyone else for that matter. Constance and I talked for a
long time this afternoon after she got the note. I don't know whether she
told you or not, but it got to her by a pretty strange route. A student who
works as a cashier at Wal-mart gave it to her after lunch today. She is in
a co-op ed program and works at Wal-mart in the morning and goes to school
in the afternoon. Seems when she was leaving work her supervisor gave her
an envelope and said a man had asked that she give it to the
student. Inside was another envelope telling the student to take the
enclosed note to Ms. Jones. At least that's the story the student
told. Constance checked it out and it seems that's what happened. Anyway,
when Constance got it, she decided just to trash it and forget about
it. Then she got a phone call and a man asked if she had gotten his note,
and told her he had sent one to the school board as well. That pretty much
meant she couldn't just ignore it."

"The note to the school board came in today's mail. I gave it to Sheriff
Putnam and asked that he check it for fingerprints. He checked the one at
school as well. Got a few good prints and is seeing if there is any way to
trace the notes to the writer. Since one came through the mail, there may
be a federal case there. Doesn't matter, as I urge you to get a good lawyer
and fight this. If the writer can be found, sue the hell out of him for
defamation of character and anything else you can think of. Too much suing
going on but, damn it, people like the writer need to be taught a
lesson. The school board lawyer may end up working against you--he better
be careful if he does--so get someone you trust. If you don't have anyone
in mind, I'll loan you one of mine. They draw a salary just to look pretty
most of the time. As a matter of fact, I have already told one of mine he
is on the case, but you can get another if you like. You know damn well I'm
taking this as a personal attack as well as an attack on a damn good
teacher and a good friend. I guess I'm wound down now. You have anything to
say?"

I must confess, both Michael and I were having to work very hard to keep
from laughing out loud. "Don't think I have much to say, Millie, except
thank you for having faith in me. I have always known I was open to an
attack like this, but I guess I had finally relaxed, thinking it wouldn't
happen. I don't know how to defend myself against someone who is afraid or
ashamed to sign his name."

"I'm not sure having an x for a signature would help much," Millie said,
only half joking. "I'm also concerned about this Keith Lewis. Do you know
him?"

"Yes, he's a petunia in an onion patch," I laughed. "He is the only serious
student in my last period class, and a senior among freshman at
that. Surely you know him. Everybody in Concord knows Bad Man."

"Bad Man? Don't think I know what you're talking about."

"Keith Lewis is Bad Man, the DJ for Saturday morning on the local radio
station."

"Afraid I am more than a little bit old for Concord's Saturday morning
radio. Is he gay?"

"I honestly don't know. I've never heard the kids teasing him and they
usually do, even though it is forbidden. The kids like his show, but he's a
real loner. I like him, maybe because he is a serious student in my class
from hell."

"Well, if this gets out, I want him defended too. This is absolutely
slanderous and could really devastate a kid. Well, just wanted you to know
I'm behind you a hundred percent, as is Constance. Michael, you take good
care of our boy. We're going to have to kick ass big time over this."
Having said that, Millie--in her usual style--hung up the phone without
saying goodbye.

After listening to Millie, I'll admit I felt better. It was like
discovering you had a Sherman tank on your side when all you thought you
had was a slingshot!

Michael and I talked a bit about the note and the mess it stirred up, but
soon we were talking about our relationship and how we had allowed it to
drift, rather than working at it. We got a lot straightened out, including
the acknowledgement that we'd have to do it again and again. Then, both
exhausted, we tumbled into bed and discovered we were not THAT exhausted
after all. But all good things must come to an end and we finally drifted
off to sleep, snug in each other's arms.


ASP--The Concord Five--Chapter Five--Danny

Saturday afternoon, Dr. Walker said I could go home if I promised to keep
taking the antibiotic which had proven effective against the bugs in the
cultures, drink plenty of fluids and rest. I was happy to promise anything
to get back to my own place.

Sunday, I decided I would go by and see Christopher. When I got to his
room, he was awake and looked surprisingly well. I mean he was still a
pretty sick boy, but definitely on the mend. We talked about what had
happened to land him in the hospital--well, not exactly. He just talked a
bit about being in the manure pond, not how he got there--and what had gone
on here. He couldn't believe the story I told him about how he had been
cured. That is he didn't believe until he asked why Michael had been at the
hospital. "He came because, when you woke up for a few minutes, you said
you needed to talk to him."

"I did? I don't remember that. All I remember is I was sliding down into a
dark, filthy pool and needed help to get out. I kept reaching up and and
no-one was there to pull me out, and I thought I heard someone telling me
to talk to a friend. Strange... All of it is strange."

"You don't know the half of it. You weren't conscious when it all
happened. But, tell me, how did you get in that manure pond in the first
place? Who beat you up and put you there?" Christopher turned his face to
the wall and said nothing, and I didn't push. Finally, after several long
minutes, he said, "Danny, I am so ashamed of myself," and started crying,
completely out of control.

I walked over to the opposite side of his bed, sat on the edge and pulled
his head to my chest, holding him as he wept bitter tears, all the time
sobbing, "I am so ashamed".

>From the times I had found myself weeping like that in a therapist's
office, I know what to do. I encouraged Christopher to cry it all out and
he did, weeping an ocean of tears. All the time he was crying, he was
clutching at me, holding on for dear life. He must have cried hard for ten
or fifteen minutes, and had just regained control when there was a knock on
the door. I got up and Christopher lay back on his pillow and said, "Come
in". Sheriff Putnam and a deputy came into the room.

After he had introduced himself, Sheriff Putnam introduced the deputy as
Deputy Austin. "Christopher, we need to talk to you if you are up to it,"
the sheriff said.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Christopher," I said.

"Promise?"

"Promise," I replied, and nodded to the sheriff and deputy and left. There
was more going on with Christopher, I was sure, than just being beaten and
dumped in a manure pond, although that was bad enough.


ASP--The Concord Five--Chapter Five--Sheriff Putnam

When I got all the reports concerning the events surrounding Christopher
Cicellis, I was very anxious to talk to the lad myself. I had a hunch the
work my deputies had been doing for almost a year was about to produce
results. I really needed to talk with Christopher, but he was too ill every
time I called the hospital. Finally I got word that he was conscious and
able to talk, so I asked Deputy Austin to accompany me to the hospital.

When we arrived, Danny Elrod was with Christopher. I have seen kids in
trouble too often and, when I remembered how much trouble Danny had been
in, I realized that there was always the possibility of them turning
around--and Danny was proof of that. When Deputy Austin and I entered the
room and introduced ourselves, Danny spoke then left.

"Christopher, we have some questions for you and we hope you have some
answers for us," I said. "You were left in a pool of cow shit to die, don't
kid yourself about that. Maybe you thought the people who did that to you
were your friends and you want to protect them but, if you do, I hope you
remember being left to die in cow shit up to your neck."

"Sheriff, I did think the guys who put me in the cow shit were my friends
and, while I may have been damn stupid--I have been damn stupid--in the
past, I have never been stupid enough to think that anyone who would do
what they did to me is a friend. So ask away."

"Christopher, the car you were in before you got dumped was identified by
Mr. Heidelberg. Actually, it was almost identified. He gave us a partial
description and a partial license number. Fortunately, that was enough
because a report of an abandoned car in Lexington fit the description and
partial plate numbers, so it was located quickly. There were several beer
cans in the car which have provided good fingerprints. And, as I'm sure you
know, the prints were on file. They belonged..."

"To me, Kenny Haines, Frank Kitchen and Spike Ellis, right?"

"Almost. Your prints were not on the cans or anything else in the car. But
there was a fourth set belonging to Ike Ramsey. Do you know him?"

"Not before Kenny introduced him as 'Ike, our friend and supplier,' that's
all. And I did have a couple beers, so my prints should have been there,"
Christopher said.

"I think they made every effort to hide the fact that you were with
them. What were you doing with that bunch?"

Christopher turned his face to the wall and said nothing. I just
waited. Finally he spoke, "Sheriff, I am so ashamed of myself. Ever since I
got here, I have been taking a little money from the till. Kenny, Frank and
Spike used it to get grass and beer for us. I mean I generally paid for
everything, but at least they paid attention to me. Anyway, last week Kenny
told me we were about to get some really good grass and money as well. 'You
need to lay hands on several extra dollars--at least a hundred,' he had
said. I told him I didn't think I could, but I'd try. I was afraid Granddad
would find out I was taking money if I took that much, so I just took a
little each day, and had fifty when they came by to pick me up. We drove
out into the country a bit, and Ike stopped the car and opened the trunk
and showed us a bunch of little glass tubes. 'There's enough crack there to
keep you in weed and beer as long as you like,' he said and then asked for
the money."

"'Look, guys', I told them," Christopher continued, "'I don't mind taking
money from the till to buy grass, but I am not dealing crack or having
anything to do with it'. When I said that, Kenny slapped me across the face
and said, 'Give me the money and shut up. You are in this just as much as
we are.' I told him again I wasn't getting involved, and he slugged me and
took the money I had. When he saw it wasn't what he expected, he hit me
again and started kicking me. I passed out and woke up here. That's all I
know."

"Can you describe the man with the three?" I asked Christopher.

"Not really. I mean of course I saw him, but never in very good light. He
was tall, I guess six-one or two, dark headed--maybe even black haired--but
with fair skin. He had a scar on his left cheek and a tattoo of a skull on
the inside of his left arm. That's about it. But what about me? How much
trouble am I in?"

"I suspect you have to ask Demetri that," I chuckled. "You said you stole
from Demetri, but he hasn't reported that. You were with a bunch who
planned to buy dope, but you didn't have any when you were dragged from the
pit and there were no fingerprints on anything we found. Of course, I
expect you to help us all you can."

"I certainly will. I think in more ways than one I have been given my life
back." Christopher smiled, "You know that Greek Orthodox immerse babies in
baptism so I got baptized again, in cow shit--but I guess cow shit is clean
enough to give me a new start. I sure intend to help you all I can, I mean
I was almost not here."

"You're right. You came very close to death and would have died had some
decent people not worked to keep you alive. Well, Christopher, I think we
have what we need but we may be back."

"Anytime," Christopher replied. "By the way, have you caught the four who
put me in the pond?"

"Of course we have the three. That was easy since they just went home. We
don't have Ike, but I think another day or two in jail will open the mouths
of your former friends. We want Ike and Lexington police think they know
where he is. But what we all really want is his supplier. Ike's really a
pretty small fish. The higher up the chain we can reach, the better."

Christopher wished us luck and we left.


ASP--The Concord Five--Chapter Five--Millie

"When will it end, oh when will it end?" I asked myself as I hung up the
phone after talking to Constance. I called her after the secretary at the
school board had phoned to tell me someone had brought a letter addressed
to the president of the board. I drove over, picked up the letter and read
it. I almost exploded when I finished reading the ignorant slander it
contained. Michelle, the secretary, told me there were copies sent to every
member of the board. I knew there was no way it could be ignored, so I
called Constance and learned she had received one as well.

Neither of us had any idea as to who had sent the venomous letters, and
both knew that John Stevenson was in for a rough time. I called him and
assured him of my backing, and offered one of my lawyers to defend him if
he needed it. After I finished talking with him, I felt better and fixed
myself a drink.

As I sat sipping my JD and branch, I suddenly felt very lonely. Damn it, I
missed Eugene. I had a big hole in my life after Jason left home, and then
Mr. Willingham had died, and I was well on my way to becoming a
self-pitying old lady when Eugene entered my life. I know he thought I had
given him everything, but I could never give him as much as he had given
me. I started to call him when the phone rang. It was Woody.

We talked for over an hour. I told him about the attack on John and he was
as upset as I had been. "He's a fine man," Woody said, "Anyone who has ever
seen him with Michael would know he wasn't playing around with anyone
else. Those two may have their problems--do you know anyone in a serious
relationship who does not--but there's no doubt they are madly in love with
each other. And I should know about being in love!"

Well, we talked about that for a while. It was private, but I will tell you
that I felt thirty years younger when I hung up the phone. I suggested
Woody might like to come down to Concord for a while and take in the beauty
of the mountains in the fall. He said he'd have to give it some thought
since he'd hate to drive the distance for only a day or two. I suggested he
spend at least a couple weeks. We talked about that and then said
goodnight.

As I got ready for bed, I was still thinking about Woody coming down and,
at the same time, about what John was going through simply because he was
in love. "It's amazing how much hatred is provoked by love. It really is."
After I had said my prayers, I crawled into bed just as I heard fire sirens
as the fire trucks raced down the street.


ASP--The Concord Five--Chapter Five--Uncle Michael

After John and I had discussed our relationship and sealed it afresh by
making love, John quickly fell asleep. I did not. I lay beside the second
man who had given me his love and whom I had loved in return. John and I
had both been responsible for allowing our relationship to drift without
giving it the care I should have known it needed. "An army always fights
the previous war," echoed in my head as I came to realize--unconsciously
for sure, but it was true nonetheless--I had been responding to John as I
would have James, the first love of my life. But John was not James and
responded to me very differently. I found both of us were often confused at
first, but gradually we came to know each other on a very deep level, but I
had, still, often treated John as if he were James, and that was wrong.

My mind then turned to the present crisis--and it definitely was a
crisis--provoked by a vicious letter to Ms. Jones. I guess it is true that
it is an ill wind which blows nobody good, because the storm the letter was
sure to blow up had also shocked John and me into talking about us and
getting out a lot of things which should have been out and dealt with weeks
before. But we had dealt with things--mostly small, but definitely capable
of growing large--and I relaxed, spooned myself into John's back and, just
as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a car scream around the
corner. Almost immediately, there was an explosion and a bright flash of
light. Both John and I jumped out of bed and rushed to the front of the
house, where we saw flames through the window.

"What in the hell..." John exclaimed, rushed across the room, grabbed the
phone and shouted, "I'll calling 911, Michael. Don't open the front door! I
can see the flames and I'm afraid you'll be burned if you open the door."
He then gave the 911 operator the needed information and turned to me.
"What next, Michael?" he cried as we both grabbed our robes and headed for
the back door.