all stick together we can-”
“Shut up, Chris,” Sue said, and was shocked to hear a dead, adult lifelessness in her voice. 'just shut up.”
“This isn't over,” Chris Hargensen said, unzipping her skirt with a rough jab and reaching for her fashionably frayed green gym shorts. “This isn't over by a long way.”
And she was right.
From The Shadow Exploded (pp. 6~6l):
In the opinion of this researcher, a great many of the people who have researched the Carrie White matter-either for the scientific journals or for the popular press-have placed a mistaken emphasis on a relatively fruitless search for incidents of telekinesis in the girl's childhood. To strike a rough analogy, this is like spending years researching the early incidents of masturbation in a rapist's childhood.
The spectacular incident of the stones serves as a kind of red herring in this respect. Many researchers have adopted the erroneous belief that where there has been one incident, there must be others. To offer another analogy, this is like dispatching a crew of meteor watchers to Crater National Park because a huge asteroid struck there two million years ago.
To the best of my knowledge, there are no other recorded instances of TK in Carrie's childhood. If Carrie had not been an only child, we might have at least hearsay reports of dozens of other minor occurrences.
In the case of Andrea Kolintz (see Appendix II for a fuller history), we are told that, following a spanking for crawling out on the roof, “The medicine cabinet flew open, bottles fell to the floor or seemed to hurl themselves across the bathroom, doors flew open and slammed shut, and, at the climax of the manifestation, a 300-pound stereo cabinet tipped over and records flew all over the living room, dive-bombing the occupants and shattering against the walls.”
Significantly, this report is from one of Andrea's brothers, as quoted in the September 4, 1955, issue of Life magazine. Lift is hardly the most scholarly or unimpeachable source, but there is a great deal of other documentation, and I think that the point of familiar witness-ship is served.
In the case of Carrie White, the only witness to any possible prologue to the final climactic events was Margaret White, and she, of course is dead
Henry Grayle, principal of Ewen High School, had been expecting him all week, but Chris Hargensen's father didn't show up until Friday-the day after Chris had skipped her detention period with the formidable Miss Desjardin.
“Yes, Miss Fish?” He spoke formally into the intercom, although he could see the man in the outer office through his window, and certainly knew his face from pictures in the local paper.
“John Hargensen to see you, Mr. Grayle.”
“Send him in, please.” Goddammit, Fish, do you have to sound so impressed?
Grayle was an irrepressible paper-clip-bender, napkin-ripper, corner-folder. For John Hargensen, the town's leading legal light, he was bringing up the heavy ammunition-a whole box of heavy- duty clips in the middle of his desk blotter.
Hargensen was a tall, impressive man with a self-confident way of moving and the kind of sure, mobile features that said this was a man superior at the game of one-step-ahead social interaction.
He was wearing a brown Savile Row suit with subtle glints of green and gold running through the weave that put Grayle's local off-the-rack job to shame. His briefcase was thin, real leather, and bound with glittering stainless steel. The smile was faultless and full of many capped teeth-a smile to make the hearts of lady jurors melt like butter in a warm skillet. His grip was major league all the way-firm, warm, long.
“Mr. Grayle. I've wanted to meet you for some time now.
“I'm always glad to see interested parents,” Grayle said with a dry smile. “That's why we have Parents Open House every October.”
“Of course.” Hargensen smiled. “I imagine you're a busy man, and I have to be in court forty-five minutes from now. Shall we get down to specifics?”
“Surely.” Grayle dipped into his box of clips and began to mangle the first one. “I suspect you are here concerning the disciplinary action taken against your daughter Christine. You should be informed that school policy on the matter has been set. As a man concerned with the workings of justice yourself, you should realize that bending the rules is hardly possible or-
Hargensen waved his hand impatiently. “Apparently you're
laboring under a misconception, Mr. Grayle. I am here because my daughter was manhandled by your gym teacher, Miss Rita Desjardin. And verbally abused, I'm afraid. I believe the term your Miss Desjardin used in connection with my daughter was 'shitty. '
Grayle sighed inwardly. “Miss Desjardin has been reprimanded.”
John Hargensen's smile cooled thirty degrees. “I'm afraid a reprimand will not be sufficient. I believe this has been the young, ah, lady's first year in a teaching capacity?”
“Yes. We have found her to be eminently satisfactory.”
“Apparently your definition of eminently satisfactory includes throwing students up against lockers and the ability to curse like a sailor?”
Grayle fenced: “As a lawyer, you must be aware that this state acknowledges the school's title to in loco parentis-along with full responsibility, we succeed to full parental rights during school hours. If you're not familiar, I'd advise you to check Monondock Consolidated School District vs. Cranepool or-”
“I'm familiar with the concept,” Hargensen said. “I'm also aware that neither the Cranepool case that you administrators are so fond of quoting or the Frick case cover anything remotely concerned with physical or verbal abuse. There is, however, the case of School District #4 vs. David. Are you familiar with it?”
Grayle was. George Kramer, the assistant principal of the consolidated high school in S. D. 14 was a poker buddy. George wasn't playing much poker any more. He was working for an insurance company after taking it upon himself to cut a student's hair. The school district had ultimately paid seven thousand dollars in damages, or about a thousand bucks a snip.
Grayle started on another paper clip.
“Let's not quote cases at each other, Mr. Grayle. We're busy men. I don't want a lot of unpleasantness. I don't want a mess. My daughter is at home, and she will stay there Monday and Tuesday. That will complete her three-day suspension. That's all right.” Another dismissive wave of the hand.
(catch fido good boy here's a nice bone)
“Here's what I want,” Hargensen continued. “One, prom tickets for my daughter. A girl's senior prom is important to her, and Chris is very distressed. Two, no contract renewal of the Desjardin woman. That's for me. I believe that if I cared to take the School Department to court, I could walk out with both her dismissal and a hefty damage settlement in my pocket. But I don't want to be vindictive.”
“So court is the alternative if I don't agree to your demands?”
“I understand that a School Committee hearing would precede that, but only as a formality. But yes, court would be the final result. Nasty for you.
Another paper clip.
“For physical and verbal abuse, is that correct?”
“Essentially.”
“Mr. Hargensen, are you aware that your daughter and about ten of her peers threw sanitary napkins at a girl who was having her first menstrual period? A girl who was under the impression that she was bleeding to death?”
A faint frown creased Hargensen's features, as if someone had spoken in a distant room. “I hardly think such an allegation is at issue. I am speaking of actions following-”
“Never mind,” Grayle said. “Never mind what you were speaking of. This girl, Carietta White, was called 'a dumb puddings and was told to 'plug it up' and was subjected to various obscene gestures. She has not been in school this week at all. Does that sound like physical and verbal abuse to you? It does to me.
“I don't intend,” Hargensen said, “to sit here and listen to a tissue of half-truths or your standard schoolmaster lecture, Mr. Grayle. I know my daughter well enough to-”
“Here.” Grayle reached into the wire IN basket beside the blotter and tossed a sheaf of pink cards across the desk. “I doubt very much if you know the daughter represented in these cards half so well as you think you do. If you did, you might realize that it was about time for a trip to the woodshed. It's time you snubbed her close before she does someone a major damage.”
“You aren't-”
“Ewen, four years,” Grayle overrode him. “Graduation slated June seventy-nine; next month. Tested I. Q. of a hundred and forty. Eighty-three average. Nonetheless, I see she's been accepted at Oberlin. I'd guess someone-probably you, Mr. Hargensen-has been yanking some pretty long strings. Seventy-four assigned detentions. Twenty of those have been for harassment of misfit pupils, I might add. Fifth wheels. I understand that Chris's clique calls them Mortimer Snerds. They find it all quite hilarious. She skipped out on fifty-one of those assigned detentions. At Chamberlain Junior High, one suspension for putting a firecracker in a girl's shoe… the note on the card says that little prank almost cost a little girl named Irma Swope two toes. The Swope girl has a harelip, I understand. I'm talking about your daughter, Mr. Hargensen. Does that tell you anything?”
“Yes,” Hargensen said, rising. A thin flush had suffused his features. “It tells me I'll see you in court. And when I'm done with you, you'll be lucky to get a job selling encyclopedias door to door.”
Grayle also rose, angrily, and the two men faced each other across the desk.
“Let it be court, then,” Grayle said.
He noted a faint flick of surprise on Hargensen's face, crossed his fingers, and went in for what he hoped would be a knockout-or at least a TKO that would save Desjardin's job and take this silk-ass son of a bitch down a notch.
“You apparently haven't realized all the implications of in loco parentis in this matter, Mr. Hargensen. The same umbrella that covers your daughter also covers Carrie White. And the minute you file for damages on the grounds of physical and verbal abuse, we will cross-file against your daughter on those same grounds for Carrie White.”
Hargensen's mouth dropped open, then closed. “You can't get away with a cheap gimmick like that, you-“Shyster lawyer? Is that the phrase you were looking for?”
Grayle smiled grimly. I believe you know your way out, Mr. Hargensen. The sanctions against your daughter stand. If you care to take the matter further, that is your right.”
Hargensen crossed the room stiffly, paused as if to add something, then left, barely restraining himself from the satisfaction of a hard door slam.
Grayle blew out breath. It wasn't hard to see where Chris Hargensen came by her self-willed stubbornness.
A. I). Morton entered a minute later. “How did it go?”
“Time'll tell, Morty,” Grayle said. Grimacing, he looked at the twisted pile of paper clips. “He was good for seven clips, anyway. That's some kind of record.”
“Is he going to make it a civil matter?”
“Don't know. It rocked him when I said we'd cross-sue.”
“I bet it did.” Morton glanced at the phone on Grayle's desk. “It's time we let the superintendent in on this bag of garbage, isn't it?”
“Yes,” Grayle said, picking up the phone. “Thank God my unemployment insurance is paid up.”
“Me too,” Morton said loyally.
