As I made my way home my thoughts turned to the kid and the bullies. As I was a frail kid and the victim of bullying at school, seeing the bully being comprehensively taken care of was, I suppose, particularly pleasing.
The school I attended in Brooklyn as a five year old had a plinth running around the outside of the wall which extended out about two inches and was something like two feet from the ground. I can remember standing with my back to the wall clutching the top of the plinth, too terrified to move, because every time I did the other kids, lead by a big guy with a crew cut by the name of Drew, would grab hold of my coat and pull me over onto the ground and take it in turns to stamp on me. This campaign of bullying on a gangland scale went on for, what seemed to me, forever, until noticing my reluctance to go to school and my general nervousness, my pop thought it about time for me to learn to take care of myself so decided to introduce me to the ‘Noble Art of Self Defence’.
A few days later he arrived home at the apartment with one of his buddies, an ex-professional boxer who, 20 years earlier, had been a leading contender for the World Lightweight title. Now, somewhat bloated, Rubin Zivic waddled into the room behind my Pop. Standing a little over 5 feet tall and nearly as wide, he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me and, taking my face in his huge hands, peered intently into my eyes. “You scared?” He said.
“Yeah....Yeah.... guess I am,” I seem to remember saying. But I wasn’t sure whether he meant if I was scared of him or the guys at school. Either way, I was scared.
Mr Zivic took me in hand and over the next few weeks gave me a crash course in boxing, street fighting, gouging and kicking. “It’s speed and the element of surprise, kid, that will get you this bastards head in a wringer.” he kept reminding me. “You don’t have to take on the entire school, just the big guy.” And, “don’t forget the bigger they are the slower they move and the harder they fall.” And “Try smackin’ him on the nose. It bleeds easier and will frighten the shit out of him and the rest of the school…then no one will mess with you in future.” When Mr Zivic thought the time was right, he and my pop accompanied me to school and watched through the railings as, terrified, I made my lonely walk over to where I could see Drew with several other kids. As I got near he looked up with a questioning smirk and raised his eyebrows. Without a word I pushed through the crowd and, with a two fisted attack, hit him as hard as I could. Clearly shocked he let out a howl, staggered back with his hand to his face and blood spurting from between his fingers. Mr Zivic’s words were prophetic as my moderate success was grossly exaggerated by all the kids who had witnessed the incident and from that moment on I was treated with new respect.
My preoccupation with my forthcoming trip to the U.S. was occasionally interrupted by my thoughts of Josh Cody to such an extent that I found myself looking for him the next day when wending my way to the pub. There was something about this boy that aroused my curiosity. I had only seen him land a few blows but, it was more about the whole incident that fascinated me. His calm and quiet confidence and, I suppose, the fact that he was sticking up for the kid who was unable to look out for himself.
As I entered the pub John Towers drifted into sight. “Did you see the blond, bully basher on your way here tonight Bubba?” I said trying to make myself heard above the cacophony of voices.
“No. Why? He wasn’t at it again was he?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him either.” I said as Bob, mouth agape and looking more like a strangled hedgehog than ever, caught my eye and pulled me a pint.
“Some bird was asking after you just now Jack.”
“Old bird or young bird?” I asked as I still had a passing interest in the opposite sex.
“A rare beauty I would say,” he replied thrusting a piece of paper in my hand. “Her phone number,” he said.