The Gutsy Goblin

The night was pitch-dark, a misty, moonless Halloween night, “blacker than a hundred midnights, down in a cypress swamp,” as poets would describe it. All of us are crazier at night than in daytime … triply so on Halloween, and so was Wayne. His plan was not only crazy — it was diabolical. Muscular, barrel-chested and an imposing six-foot, five-inches tall, he was an outstanding athlete at the college where I taught. He was also a bully. Dressed in a white sheet with a bloody knife wound over his heart, a hood with slanted eyeholes and fanged, frowning mouth, calling himself Casper the Unfriendly Ghost, he hid in a tree beside a sidewalk, dropped in front of trick-or-treaters, raised his arms, and roared “Y-A-A-A-R-GH,” causing terrified tots to drop their bags of booty and flee.

After handing the stolen sweets to his cohorts in nearby bushes, Wayne climbed again to his perch. He had robbed several kids when the next victim approached, a little boy in a black cape, pointed hat and witch’s mask, skipping along on a broom, clutching a bag of treats. Swooping to the sidewalk, Wayne raised his arms and roared, assuming that the terrified lad would drop the goodies and flee. To Wayne’s surprise, this pugnacious, pint-sized poltergeist performed unpredictably. Dismounting the broom, he grasped it and swung with all his might, swatting the fiendish foe squarely across his horrific hood! Clutching the bag of treats, the boy re-mounted and skipped away, leaving a moaning monster holding his face and cursing his guffawing comrades. Wayne attended class Monday morning with a purplish diagonal swath a broom handle’s width from temple to jaw. One eye, with blue and green arcs beneath it, was shut. “Well, Wayne, does the other guy look worse?” I asked. He hung his head, and the class fell silent, obviously knowing something I didn’t. After class, I called the dejected youngster into my office. As he explained what happened, I sensed his self-esteem, along with his face, had suffered a telling blow. Wayne needed a way out, so I told him about the upcoming essay contest sponsored by the English Department. In this contest, students read each other’s entries and voted. Then, authors of the top ten choices would read their essays at a meeting of all English sections. Reluctantly, Wayne agreed to write about his Halloween experience. Before the contest, Wayne handed me an essay entitled “Bullying Doesn’t Pay.” I was struck by the clarity of his thoughts, and realized that much more was between this young man’s ears than I suspected. The essay won hands down, and I knew from the way his once broom-bruised face shone when the winner was announced that Wayne had grown up a lot that semester. After graduation, Wayne coached and taught English in high school. In both positions, he became a role model — tough and tender. He never learned who the bold little boy was, and to this day just calls him: “the Gutsy Goblin.”