Free Little Boy Blue by Edward Bunker Page B

donations to the county medical center—not
reading but looking at the photos and jokes. Even if the class wanted to learn,
none of them would be in Juvenile Hall for more than two months (two weeks was
average), and it was impossible to develop a curriculum when the class lacked
continuity. Indeed, Mrs. Glantz saw so many come and go that she seldom bothered to learn a name. When she noticed Alex standing
respectfully before her she knew he was a newcomer. She told him to find
something to occupy himself with.
    Lulu was at a desk in the rear, a pile of
books stacked in front of him. Alex went by, hoping to
receive an acknowledgment, but Lulu was engrossed in writing his name in a
curlicued holograph, lulu de temple, on the blank front and rear pages and the
empty spaces where chapters ended. He wrote relentlessly, over and over.
    Taking several Life magazines, Alex slipped
behind a desk near Lulu, hoping not to be noticed, and quickly lost himself in the words and pictures, mostly about the war.
    At midmorning the class went out to the
softball diamond for a long recess. Lulu and a muscular black youth were told
to pick teams. Alex, younger and smaller than any of the others but appearing
probably superior to a very fat towhead with floppy ears, was chosen next to
last by the black.
    Before he could take the field, Mrs. Glantz
called his name, not knowing who he was by sight. She was on a bench, and
beside her was a monitor with the blue kerchief on his shoulder.
    “Go with him,” Mrs. Glantz said.
“Dr. Noble wants to see you.”
    As Alex followed the older boy toward the
administration building, which was also the Receiving company and the hospital, he asked, “Who’s Dr. Noble?”
    “A lady doctor. She’s the one you see when they think you might
be nuts.”
    Alex flushed, insulted. The monitor was
fourteen, much too big for Alex to challenge, and so he swallowed his retort
resentfully. Indeed, Alex himself often wondered if he was crazy; he obviously
did things that were very different from other boys.
    The monitor left him waiting on a hallway
bench on the second floor. From an open door he could hear radio music,
boogie-woogie and swing. He was just beginning to listen to music, realizing
that it made him feel good most of the time. Now it filled his mind to pass the
time.
    A girl not much older than Alex came by,
walking with a nurse. The girl shuffled along in floppy canvas slippers, and
her gown was stretched far in front from advanced pregnancy. Alex was stunned
that so young a girl could have a baby. She was nearly a baby herself.
    A head of gray hair packed into a bun poked
out of an office door. “Alex Hammond,” the woman said.
    Yes, ma’am.
    “Come on in.”
    As Alex stepped into the office, his first
impression was of books. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined one wall, and a
typewriter stand was stacked high with them. Others were piled on the floor
beside it. Then he looked to the desk with the large window behind it. The
drapes were half open, exposing the bars and, beyond them, the roofs of the
houses across the street.
    The petite woman in the pale blue
suit—its severe lines broken by a fluffy lace shirtwaist jutting from the
bosom—wore her forty- plus years gracefully. Her blue eyes were both
intent and warm, and her mouth seemed near a smile even in repose.
    “I’m Dr. Noble,” she said,
extending a hand.
    Alex blushed as he took it. Very few times
had he shaken hands with an adult.
    “Sit down,” she said, waiting
until he’d done so before going behind her desk. “I hope you
don’t mind answering some questions. It’s routine when a boy
is accused of doing something violent.”
    “Okay.”
    “Do you know the date?”
    “September twenty-third, 1943.”
    “Who’s the President of the
United States?”
    “Franklin Delano
Roosevelt.”
    Dr. Noble marked something on a form, dropped
the yellow pencil, and looked up. “All right, I’m going to tell you
a saying. You tell me