Background
The true story of how I was adopted by an unknown stranger I begged money from in a Wal-Mart parking lot.
|
Superintendent Gail McClellan had spent the day touring Hermitage Hall. I suppose the head honcho could do that if he so desired to. I knew of his whereabouts when he unceremoniously barged into the sanctuary of my room on the east end of the third floor.
I wore nothing but cutoff jeans. This was a direct violation of Hermitage Hall's vaunted dress code that clearly stated, "Boys are to remain fully clothed at all times." Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! And, I do mean that ultra-sarcastically.
I was so dressed because, as usual, the air conditioning unit was on the fritz and it was June 22nd, a blistering hot day in Nashville. The first day of Summer always is. So, what else is a boy supposed to do in a situation like that one?
Rumors had it McClellan was a pervert and favored a taste for little tykes. He headed the list of the most unpopular staff. But, he was not alone. In my book, all employees of Hermitage Hall filled that praiseworthy register.
Short and stout, to put it mildly, McClellan was the follicly challenged, bespectacled, fearless leader of the dread. He must have carried a svelte and petit 325, or more, rotund pounds on his five-foot, six -inch frame. Us boys referred to him as King Tubbo. Today he was in rare form. A smile creased his face. I was concerned it might fracture.
"Well, well. If it isn't our resident hellcat wolverine once again breaking the established rules of our fine Hall," were the first words out of McClellan's mouth as he entered my accommodations and noticed my attire.
As far as I was concerned, my reputation of "hellcat wolverine" suited me perfectly. It seemed I was always locking horns with someone at Hermitage Hall. Somebody needed to carry the mantra. It may as well have been me. I stared back at this nuisance invading my space and attempted to wish him away anywhere but pestering me. Much to my chagrin, he wouldn't leave.
"I'm in the privacy of my room," I commented.
McClellan's stern response was immediate, "Whether they are in the infirmary, the classroom, on the exercise yard we graciously provide them, or in their rooms, boys here at Hermitage Hall have no privacy. The rules are the rules, and you seem to constantly shatter them in an concerted effort to see what you can escape with."
I could not deny that fact, nor could I insinuate not being aware they had cameras scattered all over the place spying on us.
McClellan paused a moment to catch his breath. He was easily winded, then he continued by telling me, "I could enforce the required consequences for your unwarranted actions. However, I offer an olive branch and will get right to the point of what I am darkening your door for."
I couldn't wait to hear his proposal.
"Tonight, at 8 o'clock sharp, and not one second later, you are to be freshly showered. Your blond hair is to be properly shampooed and neatly combed into place. And, I do mean every last hair on top of your head. At that time you will report to the Executive Suite on the fifth floor. Moreover, you will insure you are dressed in clean, white underwear. You will also don clean black socks and closed-toed shoes on your feet. In addition, you will wear a clean, button-down long-sleeved shirt and your best pair of slacks. Upon your arrival, a suitable tie will be provided to you. Do you have any questions pertaining to these matters you wish to discuss with me at this time?"
My initial reaction was desperately wanting to ask him, "Can pigs fly?" It was a direct reference to his physical appearance. However, the little smart aleck I could be set aside, I responded with a simple, "Nope." What I truly desired was for McClellan to vanish, and, I did not want to accept his invitation either. Discretion being the better part of valor, I had no choice.
The occasion McClellan addressed was the annual Summer Solstice Ball in support of raising capitol to assist in carrying on the "prison" known as Hermitage Hall. The event would draw from the Upper Elite of many walks of life in Nashville society. It always did. These were Big Money contributors to the cause. In return, they expected to be, shall we say "entertained".
Many of the boys I was on speaking terms with, and there wasn't but a trickle of them at that time, had been talking about this event for the last month. Not all of them would be in attendance, only a hand-selected few, of which apparently, like it or not, I was one.
The chatter was these attendees demanded a particular species of boys for this Black Tie affair. The happier they were with the variety of boys made available for the evening the more currency they tended to endow.
So much for my planned activities of the night. These included turning out the overhead light in my room, illuminating a flickering candle, and enjoying my Edgar Allen Poe horror stories. My most favorite line of his was "Quote the raven nevermore".
Instead, I was required to be at these festivities I cared nothing about. All of us boys knew what happened at one of McClellan's famous celebrations. We were the star attractions.
Sometimes, in the grand scheme of life, blond hair and blue eyes aren't all they are cracked up to be. Little did I know how close I was to wrapping up my stay at Hermitage Hall. A place I despised.
Author Notes
Boys at Hermitage Hall had very little say in what the Staff demanded we do.
American Night, by cleo85, selected to complement my autobiography.
So, thanks cleo85, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my autobiography.
|
|
