BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 98
afraid of him. It wasn‟t long, I think even later that same day, when he encountered me
in the hall between classes. He ordered me to get out of his way, and I did it.
Looking back, I should‟ve just told him to go fuck himself and that would‟ve
been the end of it. Like the Lou Rawls song, “Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda”. I didn‟t, and I
would later pay a price for not doing what I should‟ve done. Terrell would pay an even
greater price.
From there, Terrell did nothing but gather steam. He‟d order me out of his way,
then even got to making me back up and stand flat against a locker until he was past.
Finally, he started approaching me in the foyer each morning, the place where everybody
gathered to talk before class. He‟d ask, “White boy, whatchoo doin‟, talkin‟ t‟ these here
white girls? Get yo‟ ass away, mothuhfuckah, b‟fo Ah whips it!” Then he‟d stand and
glare at me, as if he was on the verge of kicking my ass right there in front of everyone.
Each time, although I was humiliated, I walked away. What I really wanted to do
was mop the floor with his burly black ass, but I knew that‟d get my ass in a jam. Make
Chapman‟s theory about me come true. So, I‟d simply leave. I tried telling my friends
the truth. All I got was a sarcastic smile and an, “Oh, sure, Bill. Yeah, I bet.”
Still, I kept trying. For six weeks, I kept trying. That fateful day, we were getting
ready for gym class. Our coach was Doug Herner, a man not too many years older than
me. Our “social group”, in the entirety, included maybe three-hundred people, ranging in
age from fifteen, like me, to twenty-five, in some cases. Doug recently departed our
group, after graduating and getting his teacher‟s certification. Not more than two years
earlier, I‟m sure.
I remembered talking with him a few times at beer parties. All I ever called him
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