Running with "The Big Boys"

Beware. These guys are everywhere. I am serious. They are called, “The Big Boys.” And for several reasons, most I do not care to publish.

They are at school, church, job, government, political-circles and I bet that you are thinking that I am talking about the Mafia. No. These guys are not of the Mafia, but just as powerful and influential. That, for me, was a mouthful.

I tried, when I was young, curious, and had a spirit of adventure, wanted to, as people say, “Run with the big boys,” and didn’t make it. It was my cut of clothes, my speech, or maybe just because these guys were just too important for a small-time, no-name like me. I used to try and guess why I was never a “big boy,” but grew to hate “guesswork.”

What failed me this time was “me,” my mind, body and spirit just could not keep-up with these guys who seemingly had no end to their energy, strength, and endurance.

You have been around these guys. They get off work at 5 p.m. on a Wednesday and party all night until the break of day and show up before work-time “sharp as a tack,” and “shining like a new nickel,” showing no scars or marks from the night before.

In another time, I admired these guys. I mean I almost idolized them. But after a short while, “I” woke-up and realized that I had been fooling “me.” That’s easy to do as some of you can testify. But, I hope you didn’t react like I did when I woke from my hazy-vision by turning sick, angry, and for a time, hated myself for being so gullible.

These guys, “The Big Boys,” are not stupid. In fact, they are some of the wisest men you’ll ever meet. They shake hands with their hands of silk, smile a perfect-smile and without as much as a warning, start patting you on the back and handing you one illusive-compliment after the other. You are stunned as well as in a daze as men being as powerful and popular as “The Big Boys,” even taking the time to nod you an obligatory “hello.”

Every manipulative-group has an agenda, a goal to reach, but in all of the chasing these guys of charm and girls on each arm, I never knew what their agenda was. And I know they had one because when I was with them in a social drinking scene, there was too-much whispering and gathering in smoky corners. I watched their lips move from across the room and cursed the day I didn’t learn to read lips, for if I had, would I be here at 1:24 a.m., Sunday, May 18, banging-out this piece of truth? I will wager a confident “no.” But do not read too much into that last statement. There is no way I can prove what I have just said.

All I know, and I am now back at that private drinking scene, these guys knew how much I loved to booze-it-up and have fun with “the right” people. The people of power and ease from the law. I was a one-time friend with one of the most-powerful “big boy,” and evidently he was so insecure that he would follow me around on one of his company “visits,” and ask, “I can get things done, right?” How could I answer any other way but “You bet you can.” And when he heard that confirmation, he was fine.

He carried a dangerous stigma. You are familiar with this adage: “If he likes you he will do all he can for you, but if you cross him, he will make your life miserable.” That fit my ex-“big boy” friend.

One more thing about him I want to share. I was at a party at my house one summer evening. We had catfish cooking, beer coolers everywhere and cars parked in the yard. Signs that a good time is being had inside our shack-of-a-house. It never dawned on me, but the local police who had a habit of patrolling the road that ran next our house, must have thought strange at several Cadillacs, BMW’s and a Stingray or two sitting parked near my humble digs. Now I wish I had taken a photo for you to see on this hub.

"Running with 'The Big Boys,'

means . . . .

• Giving all you have to this group to just be accepted and fit-in
• Doing everything "The Big Boys" do and doing it like they do if you are to be a member of their group
• Observing certain secret commandments
• Learning how to be better than anyone
• Being sharp-witted, charming, and always charismatic
• Doing things for those in power
• Honoring each other
• Allow this group to approve of everything and everyone in your life

THEY ARE EVERYWHERE.

He had the power to make or break you. I wish I had said that like my literary-hero, Hunter S. Thompson, for I hate to use phrases that are over-used to begin with. I think I will give this paragraph a new start.

He had the filth, power, and tongue to take your guts and sling them onto his office walls. That ‘s better and more-precise than the other paragraph that I left in so you could compare.

But that is enough about “that” “Big Boy,” who I admit, did help me when I became disabled in 2003. He and his “Big Boy in-training,” his youngest son, sent me a check for $75.00 to help with household bills. I was grateful. I wrote a lengthy-letter to the editor and put his and his son’s name at the first of this letter of people I thanked for the financial, spiritual, and emotional help. I never heard from him or his son again.

In my horror-filled days in high school, it was either the jocks or the smart butt’s who made-up “The Big Boys,” who made and broke the rules. Oh, I better tell you about one early “Big Boy,” I had the disdain for in the sixth-grade. I do not care to tell you that I hated this guy’s every existence. His name was Rick. He had been afflicted with Polio, and had to wear braces. I was a bit sorry for him, but not to a point of kneeling before God each day and crying for Rick’s healing. Back then in 1966, I wasn’t on a first-name basis with God.

My mom and his dad were cousins. She had told me that Rick and I were related to each other. But on the day I shared my new-found wisdom of our kin, he scoffed and said, “Go to Hell,” and then waddled away. That, to me, was pretty sorry. As sorry as a few thousand maggots in a country toilet. No, I take it that back. The maggots were more humane than this pig.

Even as I go through my days I can still see his smart butt sneer, and guile on his lips as he put himself above me with that one curse.

And now I guess you are thinking that God had His vengeance on Rick, the pig. Not hardly. He attended my mom’s surviving relatives’ annual reunion every second Saturday in June. I wasn’t there, thank you, Jesus. But my wife went to this laugh-and-food-fest and said Rick, was “dressed to the nines,” with hair styled, and looked good. He even shook hands with Pam. I am so glad that I remembered that slur he gave me on the playground. I cannot “act” righteous and holy when I am cut so deep in the soul that the only thing I can feel is the scar deepening and wound never healing.

I wish Rick, the pig well. In fact, and I will move on. Rick is a high-level executive with the Flowers Bakery in a town called Tuscaloosa in Alabama. His dad worked for them for years and I guess Rick had to carry-on the family torch. But his dad, ONeal was a saint. He treated people with respect and didn’t tell them to “Go to Hell,” if they shared a kin to him.

ONeal, why did you have to go and die?

I hate that we humans cannot change death back to life, and as a side-thought, I would not want ONeal back for he is far better-off where he is.

When running with “The Big Boys,” the first few months are swift, happy, and beyond any state of peace you could ever imagine as a common person. There are things to do, places to visit and always a new group of “Big Boys” your group of “Big Boys” would love for you to meet. And you do, only to compare them to your “Big Boys” and go to bed wanting to be with that new gang of “Big Boys.”

There is no way that I will write that paragraph again.

One night this guy, the leader of your “Big Boys,” talks to you about a few “little” things that you might want to know before going any further with this group of guys who have been nothing but “sugary-sweet” and always smelling great while around you.

Naturally you ask, “Toddie,” as the gang calls him, if you are doing something wrong? He softly laughs and quickly explains that you are in “good shape,” with the group and the other “Big Boys” think you are “tops.” You cannot help but let-out a sigh of relief even in front of “Toddie,” who is guy of impeccable manners.

When the small talk subsides, “Toddie,” talks from one side of his mouth about how you need to learn how to verbally-jab at other “Big Boys” because this is a “secret rule of fellowship” among the “Big Boys” groups all over the United States, but only in the metropolitan areas. “The Big Boys” swore that no group of “The Big Boys” would ever form in any rural or farming area of our country for their groups are of highest-education, influence, and power and being seen in a rural or farming area would make them appear foolish and without credibility.

The second rule that “Toddie” reveals to your confidence is that when you are with him and the group and one guy decides to smoke some “weed,” you smoke “weed,” but not necessarily to get high, but to appease a powerful man or woman that they want to steer in some shrouded political work that they will all share the benefits of the favors thrown to them by this powerful man or woman.

Your stomach draws tight as “Toddie,” moves past the obligatory “weed” smoking and into a blind-allegiance to “The Big Boys,” in all controversial and matters that might harm “The Big Boys’” secret powerful standing in the city.

“Toddie,” you begin. “You mean if you or one of my friends in ‘The Big Boys,’ get in some, uhh, scrape or misunderstanding with the authorities, “I” am to cover for them and provide an ironclad alibi?”

“You catch-on quick, friend,” “Toddie,” replies smiling at you like an older brother who is going to be a father for the first-time.

Then with these two important confidential-rules intact, “Toddie,” quickly explains the minor expectations of “The Big Boys,” to you.

He tells you that you are to dress as close to the group as you can. Then points-out that “if,” which is of a big nature, one of “The Big Boys,” were to have some minor altercation with the law, the witnesses, if any, would have a time telling the police which “Big Boy” was the guilty person.

You understand.

The second minor rule is that your teeth are to always be perfectly-white, your breath is to always be fresh and a huge, smirky-smile is to be upon your mug as if you are up to something, but the common folk do not know what it is.

“You do well at keeping these rules, friend, and you will be moving up the ladder,” “Toddie” says as he stands up, quickly scratches his crotch (without anyone seeing him including you), and walks out the door but not before he turns and gives you that signature “Big Boy” wink.

When he leaves, you imagine that he is gay, but quickly dismiss that dangerous thought, for you do have aspirations of moving-up the “ladder of power,” in “The Big Boys.”

For the next two hours, you listen to the classic blues of legendary singer, Billie Holliday on your Kenwood turntable and compile the rules that “Toddie” revealed, and those that you picked-up on your own as you were first being molded into a “Big Boy.”

Next you do a wise thing: You make a “Pro” and “Con” list of things about “The Big Boys,” for you to really think about during this dark night before you tell “Toddie,” you are ready to take the next important secret steps of success in being with “The Big Boys,” most of your waking-hours—days, nights, and weekends. Personal dedication and sacrifice are important to these guys.

Four and a half days pass. In this timeframe you neither hear from or see anyone from “The Big Boys.” You start to worry. “What if they will not approve of me?” you ask yourself in the shower, where you do all of your talking to yourself.

At your job that day, you get a call from “Toddie,” telling (not asking) you to be at the old deserted cotton bale storage warehouse located on Haven Avenue on the “rough” side of town. You do not argue. You know that your entire future with “The Big Boys” is at stake. And if you are going to “run with ‘The Big Boys,” you must adhere to their every rule and whim.

Your day goes by moderately-fast. The boss seemingly-ignores you for some reason. Your coworkers are all “snowed-under,” with end-of-the-month paperwork and reports. You do a good job of acting like you are doing the same work. Actually you could care less, for you feel that soon, big things are going to happen to you simply because you are leaving your hum-drum life in a coffin and being resurrected into a new man in “The Big Boys.”

You are scheduled to meet “Toddie,” and the group around 10 p.m.. You look at your Timex wristwatch that is always two minutes fast, and realize that it is just 9:32. p.m. plenty of time to relax, sip a Scotch on the rocks and don your best suit and slacks. You want to look fabulous for this second important meeting with “the Big Boys.”

At approximately 9:58 p.m., you are standing in the lone outside light at the cotton bale warehouse, the sight of your 10 p.m. meeting that will either make you or break you with “Toddie” and the guys.

You knock four times. It seems like “Toddie” has set you up for a sucker for no one answers the door. Then as your hand rises to knock the fifth-time, a voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Enter, friend. And shut your eyes,” the deep, manly-voice commands.

You are actually trembling with excitement. Reminiscent of the night you scored with “Linda Sue Wright,” the head majorette at your high school. What an afternoon that was. She turned you from a lonely dork into a laid-back, relaxed, satisfied walking billboard for her sexual prowess.

You slowly walk into the warehouse entrance. A strong hand touches you on the arm. You keep your eyes shut as you were told. The hand of an obviously-strong man leads you slowly deeper into the room. You smell several brands of expensive men’s cologne. You are inside “The Big Boys’” secret meeting place.

A pair of hands slip a silk blindfold around your head. You become scared.

“Do not fear, friend. You are with your kind,” a different voice from “Toddie” says.

“You are here by the goodness and respect of our leader, “Toddie,” and we insist that you do not speak until we say so.” The strong voice instructs you.

You listen and distinguish the sounds in the warehouse. You hear a bathroom faucet dripping in a regular tempo, a hungry rodent scurrying round about seeking food and you hear the distinctive breathing of “The Big Boys,” group as they sound relaxed, almost-comatose.

“We will be brief, friend,” “Toddie” says sternly. “We want to tell you the rest of “our” secret commandments in order for you to be a worthy member of “The Big Boys.”

You dare not speak. You are in all-reality, on-trial and even the most-ignorant move on your part will be detrimental.

“Friend, listen closely. ‘The Big Boys,’ list of secret commandments are these”:

You may not date any girl you choose. But only the ones we choose for you. The reason for this needful-commandment: We do not want our members consorting with people who are beneath our integrity and credibility.

You are to wear a suit and tie around the clock when you are in the public eye. And when at home, the casual-wear you put on after work will have to meet with our approval. We will not tolerate someone who can be a better man, but won’t.

Chicken of any style, Cabbage-based dishes, all seafood, are forbidden to be consumed for they are all the “food of the lower class,” and all members of “The Big Boys” are all on a higher-class than the rest of our civilization.

You are to sever all ties you have with anyone of the lower-class—friends, family, coworkers, anyone who is not in “The Big Boys.” Your new life will only begin upon you honoring and successfully-honoring these and all of the secret rules and commandments we have given you.”

“Do you understand?”

You still do not speak, but nod in agreement.

“Friend, if you do succeed in what we expect, you will always have money, work if you want it, and our full-support no matter what you are doing or where you are,” “Toddie” now says as you are led back to the warehouse entrance.

A hand pushes you outside in the dark. You remove the blindfold and hear the door shut loudly.

“It happened,” you say to yourself. “I am going to be a ‘Big Boy,’” and start to run toward your car.

Did you follow this story? And did you catch all of the smooth details that ‘The Big Boys,’ expected of this poor guy who has hungered for acceptance and entrance into a group such as these men?

This poor sap did not stop to inspect the last few commandments that pretty-much sealed his fate with his current friends, family and coworkers.

He went blindly as a sheep to the slaughter, never bothering to let his own suspicion guide him to asking why he must mind these frivolous orders and rules. Was he that stupid?

Yes. Sadly, yes. He “never saw it coming,” as the old adage says.

With one meeting with “The Big Boys,” he bid a sad farewell to his family, friends and his very life.

He was not given a choice but to eat, wear, talk like, and emulate “The Big Boys,” around the clock.

Just to be able to “Run with ‘The Big Boys.”