Rodney Labbe:
CLASS OF 1971
Notre Dame SchoolClass of 1971
Waterville, ME
University of Maine - OronoClass of 1985
Orono, ME
Waterville High SchoolClass of 1971
Waterville, ME
Waterville Junior High SchoolClass of 1967
Waterville, ME
South Grammar SchoolClass of 1965
Waterville, ME
Rodney's Story
If you're a fine, upstanding member of the class of 1971 at Waterville High School, read on...but I suggest you buckle your seatbelt!
Nowadays, we hear of bullying all the time, as if it's a new phenomenon. But I can honestly say--from rather harsh experience--that bullying was alive and well at Waterville High school, back in 1967-71.
My peers engaged in it with unbridled, bloodthirsty enthusiasm. I was humiliated, harassed, HATED, physically abused and made to feel worthless every day of my school life, without exception. People knocked books out of my arms and kicked them down the crowded hallways (and then stepped on them, including my term papers), put a knife to my throat in sophomore English class and threatened to KILL me (thank for the cut, Richard L. Sorry you passed away.), tripped me so I fell hard on my kneecaps and almost cracked them in freshman Civics class (thanks for that kind gesture, ex-friend, Dawn W. I wonder if you've told your children you were a bully?), had mud thrown in my face, was punched and shoved and even spit on (Joey P. and Chris M., such fine examples of young Waterville manhood) and called every filthy, disgusting name in the book DAILY (thank you, the entire Class of 71)...though I'd never done anything to anyone. Never spread a rumor, never started a fight, never answered back, nothing. All I did was exist and try to get through another day without being destroyed. I liken it to a soldier at war; the enemy could come out at you from anywhere, so I had to be constantly on my guard.
And why? Because they claimed I was gay...or a "fairyboy" (to use their most common slur for me). That was my crime. Nobody knew for sure, of course, but uncertainty mattered not. The mere accusation was enough to get the ball rolling. The rumor spread like wildfire, to anyone who cared to listen. And I mean EVERYONE, even teachers. Back then, being a "fairy" was worse than being a serial killer. People hated you. They wanted to hurt you, and they wanted to hurt me. And they did.
What I felt or even if I was suicidal over all of this didn't matter. All that mattered to the douchebags of Waterville High was that they could use me as their whipping boy, and they did so whenever the mood hit them. When the mood DIDN'T hit, I was ignored completely. The factions were divided up thusly: those who actively participated in the...Expand for more
bullying abuse, and those who did nothing but watch, laughing on the sidelines or shaking their heads at all those crazy shenanigans, without stepping in to stop it (like you, sweet little Julie K.). Sadly, those two groups pretty much encompassed the ENTIRE CLASS of 1971 at Waterville High School.
Friends I'd made when I was younger turned against me. Some even participated openly in the tormenting. And worse, their abuse filtered both down and up, to upperclassmen and then to those younger than me who were entering school. This lasted FOUR years, the entire length of my stay there...right up until the graduation ceremony (and even during it, can you imagine?). So the haters and bullies had plenty of material and time with which to work, and many people they could poison against me.
To give you an idea of how hateful they were: on graduation night, as I crossed the stage to receive my diploma, someone from my class yelled out a homophobic slur loud enough for the audience to hear, including my parents and relatives.
What a wonderful, nurturing environment for a child. All of you reading this who were there should be ASHAMED. And I mean everyone, from the class president down to the vocational students and many of the teachers and administration (the ones still living, that is). ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES. I hope God has forgiven you because I most definitely have not.
When I left Waterville High on graduation day, June 10, 1971, I was liberated from bondage. Never again would I have to look at their hateful, ugly, inbred Waterville faces or hear their snide, uneducated voices. Fate--which had thrown me in with them--had ultimately saved me. I spent the next 40+ years putting Time and Distance between us. But I've never forgotten their cruelty. A dog never forgets the whip.
I've been invited to reunions and have to laugh--why would I want to reunite with people who hated my guts and made me suffer so? And then I hear about their troubles--they have cancer, they've been involved in bad marriages, they're drug addicts and alcoholics, their husbands beat on them, their kids sell dope or are in jail, they're dying, they're even DEAD, they have Alzheimer's and hear voices, they're on meds to "cope." Well, guess what! I'm in perfect health. So Karma definitely has done its work! I don't feel sad or sorry for any of them.
And THAT is my story.
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