Well, Bully For You!

When I was whisked off to boarding school in the summer of 1973, it was done so quickly and in such an impromptu manner that I felt much like Dorothy must have felt in that spinning house.   I was a pretty sheltered fourteen; a small island country girl.

I could only take with me what would pack into my small, turquoise Samsonite suitcase, battered  from years of serving a military family.

Most of my scanty tropical wardrobe would not be suitable for the cooler and more formal expectations of southern California, so all my favorite cut-offs, halter tops and tanks were left behind.

Only dresses would be allowed as school wear, so the one dress I had long enough to  reach the two-inches-above-the-knees-hem was quickly supplemented by two more homemade dresses Aunt Barb helped me sew.

I tried to squeeze in as many of my books as I could, but there just wasn’t enough room for nearly enough of the things that defined me: books, photos, shell collections, stuffed animals and the like.

It felt something akin to an amputation without anesthesia to leave my life behind and fly 3,000 miles; to pack that suitcase and travel to a place I didn’t want to go, where I knew no not a single soul.  

Well, no on but my bigger-than-life super-popular step-sister, Blythe, who would be a senior there.  She would have afternoon classes; I would have mornings.  She would live ‘in the village’; I would live in the dorm.  She would be graduating at the semester; I’d be there for the duration…  So basically, our paths would never cross.

On my virgin flight to California, we changed planes in Puerto Rico and again in Miami, and then flew on late into the evening, landing in Los Angeles with the dry August Santa Ana winds.

I pocketed the deck of cards and the little, complementary bottle of rum they passed out on the plane.  Blythe told me that  both would be considered contraband at school, but I would need some sort of special treasure from home for times when the homesickness became overwhelming.

Well, California was all new to me.  Boarding school was all new. The Seventh-day Adventist religion of the school was definitely all new to me.

There were two more things I inherited that I didn’t ask for – both of which stayed with me the whole four years I was there and caused me grief to no end.  Both were related.  The first was a blessing, the second a curse.

The first was Endymion, a huge, seventeen-hand ex-racehorse.  He was my step-mother’s horse, boarded at the school’s stables, and was Blythe’s status symbol.

The second thing I inherited, unfairly so, was Blythe’s reputation.  Completely out of my control, Blythe and I showed up at school at 11:00 p.m. our first night at school.

Blythe knew full well that was well after 10:00 curfew, but she also knew that rules didn’t apply to her.  They never had.  

So instead of presenting ourselves at the front door, like any normal person, and waking the grumpy dean, Mrs. Nicholas, she snuck us around to the back of the dorm and convinced a friend (was it Ariane?) to let us climb in her unsecured basement window.

Blythe went through first and I handed through first her, and then my suitcase.  I was in the process of handing in my guitar case when the door flew open, the light flashed on, and I was introduced to an irate Mrs. Nicholas.

“I should have known Blythe Cutler’s sister would be a trouble maker just like her!” she expounded, and I was branded with a scarlet letter on the spot.   No matter what I did or who I was, she forever painted her picture of me with the tainted paint pot of Blythe’s character.  I was a no good trouble maker.

But back to Endymion, or Dimion, as we called him.  It’s really about him.

Blythe did graduate at the semester, and I really didn’t see her at all after she hauled me through that basement window into the bad graces of Irma Nicholas.

She left to a life outside and I inherited Dimion.  Well, at least his board bill.  For the business office simply started charging me now for his keep.

The school was set up in such a way as to give the students the learning benefit of a work ethic. Dorm students, especially, were expected to go to school half of the day and work four hours a day toward helping pay for their schooling.  Even those who didn’t need to financially were expected to work in one of the jobs on campus.

When it became obvious that my trip to boarding school in California was a one-way ticket and I was going to have to support myself and earn my own way, I worked more than most.

Most kids worked every other weekend as well as their 4 hours a weekday.  I often had to work every weekend.  And when others went home every six weeks for long weekends, I usually stayed behind and worked.  (Although, my friend, Andrina, occasionally swept me home to Santa Barbara with her!)

By the end of each school year I would always be behind on tuition, no matter how hard I worked, but I would work eight-hour days through the summer and just catch up by the time the time the new school year came around, so I could start with a clean slate.  So they would let me register and we’d start all over again.

Each year the tuition went up and I cringed. (Okay, sometimes I cried.)  But I managed. 

By my senior year, I had to get creative with balancing my education and work.  The tuition jumped again, (it had doubled since my freshman year) and this year I would have to find a way to break even by June instead of September.

In the end, the only solution was to CLEP (College Level Examination Program) out of the classes I could and work six hours a day instead of four.  It was a little lonely and I felt like something of an outsider in my much beloved group of classmates,  just taking two or three classes.  But I did what had to be done.

I busted my butt, but by the time it came around for finals, I had failed to reach my goal.  I had not managed to pay off my entire tab.  

Sitting in Bible class in early May, I was called to the business manager’s office. 

I had been anticipating this call.  I didn't know what I was going to say.  I just promised myself I wasn't going to cry!  

I still owed $600 and the rule was you couldn't take your finals unless your bill was paid in full.

I broke my promise.  I cried.   

But not before I told Mr. Rau he knew I was good for it.  I had worked harder than anyone in the history of this school.  

 I’d worked weekends, vacations, summers, and still managed to keep a B+ average.

I would work all summer if need be to pay off the last $600.    

And then in desperation, I stated matter-of-factly, “After all, that’s not even my debt.  That’s a year's worth of horse board for a horse that isn't even mine.”

It wasn't a complaint; I’d long since realized how useless that was.  I was just stating a fact.

But he cocked  his head and asked what I meant. I explained that in addition to paying my own way the last four years, I had been also supporting a hungry ex-racehorse that wasn't mine as well.

He scratched his head then picked up the phone.  After an interesting conversation with the stable manager, he smiled, picked up a pen, and scribbled an exam pass.  He commended me on an my outstanding accomplishments at the school then sent me back to class.

The solution to the dilemma of Dimion and the unpaid school bill was this:  Since my stepmother had basically, legally abandoned the horse at school, the school was required to notify her before selling the horse at auction.  She knew he would not go for more than $200 or so at auction and she would save some big money buying him at auction rather than just paying the bill.

My boss, the stables manager, said it wasn’t cost effective for us to take him to the auction ourselves, so she called a horse trader named “Bully” from up in Thousand Oaks to take Dimion when he went to the auction the following Thursday.

It would be her day off so I would have to be there to hand Dimion off to Bully when he came to pick him up.  No problem.

I admit, I was teary-eyed and nostalgic as I brushed Dimion down for the last time and readied him for Bully.  Then I waited anxiously.  Bully always made me nervous.  He wasn't called Bully for nothing.  He was big and tall and loud and gruff - all the things I wasn't.

He knew horses and when he saw Dimion he said we were crazy to sell this horse at auction.  He’d buy this $#%* horse right here and now and save the trip, he said (in very loud, colorful language.)  I told him that we couldn't do that, digging my hands in my pockets and the toe of my boot in the dust.  The horse had to go to auction.  

Bully growled at me.  Who the hell was I to make that decision?  He wanted to talk to my boss!  Or the business manager!  Not some damn kid!

I finally explained the story behind Dimion and why he had to be sold at the auction.  That the school had decided they would take whatever he got at auction as payment in full - even though that wouldn't be nearly what I owed.  And that I knew Marilyn was going to be there picking him up for a fraction of what she owed on my school bill.  He was really livid  now – for a different reason.

The next day he stopped by the stables with an envelope from the auction company and a great story to tell.  He was so indignant over the story of the woman who stuck her step-daughter with the horse’s board bill all those years and refused to pay it, that he made it his own personal mission to make it his business.

When Dimion came up for auction, he waited to see who the cold-hearted lady was bidding on this horse.  

Then he started bidding her up.  And up.  And up.  And he didn't stop until she wound up paying the full $600 for that $200 horse! 

When he came back to school, this big, intimidating old bully of a man smiled at me and was proud to say that I could graduate with my head held high because that bill was paid in full.

I find an interesting parallel in life.  (If you've read my blog at all, you know I can't help but muse and draw correlations!)

No matter how much we humans pray, or how hard we work at doing good deeds, we can never pay the high price of life’s ‘final exams.’ Only accepting the free gift of Jesus’ redeeming love will pay that fee in full.

You, Lord, took up my case; you redeemed my life.

                                --  Lamentations 3:58

I will free you from being slaves to them, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with mighty acts of judgment.                   --  Exodus 6:6