The Killer Fart

The Killer Fart

Sometimes things happen that leaves you searching for answers, but answers are harder to find than questions.

Back in 1968 at St. John the Baptist School, we had church by grade once a week. Usually on Tuesday, we seventh grade students took our turn and this day was no different than all the rest, except for the following story.

We had two classes of seventh graders, A and B, and when we went to church girls set on one side, boys in the aisles across from them. We had armed nuns patrolling the aisles, they were armed with steel rulers and quick twitch smacks on knuckles, and teachers sitting both up front and behind us. They made it very clear bad behavior would be dealt with swiftly and without remorse.

The mass was going fine, nothing to report, and as we approached communion Father McGowan readied the golden chalice and his blessings of the Holy Eucharist. I was sitting in row three of five and was kneeling as were the rest of my school mates.

As the Father raised the golden chalice I expelled gas, in a very loud and unbecoming manner, and in doing so excited some laughter on both sides of the aisle. Teachers eyebrows rose, Father McGowan froze with his arms extended and the world as I knew it ended.

Mr. Goetters was one of our teachers and I believe he was fully licensed to abuse his pupils. I saw him take my good friend Kenny Feather and throw him up against a coat rack so hard we all cringed. He knew the fart had come from around where I sat but with the church fairly empty the echo resounded everywhere.

A friend who sat directly in front of me was the most picked on, bullied kid in school, almost obese, wore glasses and was very non-athletic. Myself and a few cohorts went out of our way to protect him though and most kids didn’t want to tangle with me, so they left him alone most of the time.

Paul Averbach was a good kid, he just didn’t fit in with the other guys. He was chased over fences by eighth grade kids and heckled by most. We were never really tight, but I didn’t like the idea of kids being bullied, still don’t.

When church was over all the boys were herded into one class room and the girls into the other. We found ourselves alone with the licensed child beater in the same class room he beat Kenny in. We all were told to take a seat quickly and quietly and did as we were ordered.

Soon the Gestapo in Mr. Goetters took over and he sweated us like prisoners of war. No bathroom breaks, no water breaks, no recess, we were there until someone was fingered. He started by identifying who he thought was close enough to of been involved and turned up the heat.

I was in that group and almost raised my hand several times, but honestly Kenny’s beating still played non-stop in my mind and I was just plain scared. I wanted to scream out it was an accident, a bodily function, ill timed but no offense was meant, but I didn’t.

Missing recess to a bunch of seventh grade boy’s was akin to starvation of the soul and now the masses started throwing names around. There was no proof and without a confession no blame could be placed. If we all were patient this soon would pass and we would go back to normal, at least what our normal was.

Kids started to indicate the fart came from about where I sat, but the main culprit seemed to be Paul and I let it go at that. Paul started crying and Goetters jumped him like a hungry man on a ham sandwich. Paul was weak and Goetters went in for the kill. Paul actually admitted he did it and I may have been the only one in the room who knew the truth. I froze, didn’t say a word, let the teacher bully my friend, and by remaining quiet I too became the bully. Ironic how life can change circumstances instantly on you.

Years later, I believe at age seventeen or eighteen I heard Paul had ridden his motorcycle into a block wall and committed suicide. I was devastated, had my lack of action helped cause this tragedy? This is the first time I’ve shared this story in many, many years and I’m almost embarrassed by my lack of guts.

If I could only go back and take on Goetters, do the time, I would. Would any of this had helped Paul, no one will ever know, but I’ll feel sorry for The Killer Fart until the day I pass.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest everyone, my eyes are a bit teary, as they tend to do when I think of this story. Stay strong, stay safe, protect and love your family and friends.

Crack Egg Out