For some reason, I got to thinking recently about a kid named Travis who was in my third (I think) grade class at Westwood Elementary. Travis was one of those "me, me, me" guys who wanted what he wanted and he wanted it right away…and that was it. Nothing mattered in the world except what Travis wanted. He stole things from other kids. He lied left and right, often for no visible reason. He misbehaved constantly and blamed everyone else. But his finest hour came one morning when our teacher, Mrs. Reed, decided to show us how bread was baked.
There was a small stove in the Teachers Lounge and the whole class crammed in there to watch her break the eggs and sift the flour and such. Before long, the air was filled with the most wonderful smell of hot cinammon-infused bread and we were all salivating something awful. Mrs. Reed did a headcount. Including her and the student teachers, there were 40 of us…so she carefully cut the bread into forty pieces of equal size. One by one, we were to walk up to the table and each take our one piece. So Jeanette Bingle went up and took her one piece. And Ricky Kamen went up and took his one piece. And Cindy Segal walked up and took her one piece.
And then Travis walked up and grabbed about eight pieces.
Before anyone could stop him, he licked five of the pieces and crammed the other three in his mouth, thereby laying claim to them all. Mrs. Reed shrieked at him and all the students booed and yelled at him. His response? With his mouth full of cinnamon bread, he kept saying over and over, "I want it! I want it!" One of the student teachers scurried up and grabbed the rest of the bread away before he could get his hands on any more of it.
Travis was sent off to the principal's office while Mrs. Reed dealt with the reassignment of the remaining slices. I think she and her aides decided to forego their shares and a few other pieces were cut in half. I do remember getting half a slice.
Travis did not return to class that day. The following morning, Mrs. Reed asked me to go to the principal's office, not because I was in any trouble — my entire time in school, I was never in any trouble — but because I was needed there. I soon found myself in a meeting with Mrs. Kermoyan (the principal), Travis and the father of Travis, who'd come in at Mrs. Kermoyan's request. My initial impression was that I could have picked Travis's father out of a crowd with great ease. He looked exactly like his son but older and pudgier…and I would soon learn that selfishness is apparently hereditary, as well. The father was annoyed he'd had to take time off from work and come in.
I'd been brought in as a kind of witness. Since Mrs. Kermoyan hadn't been present for the incident, Mrs. Reed had sent her most trustworthy student to describe what happened. I felt a brief twinge that maybe I shouldn't "rat" on a fellow pupil…but it wasn't exactly a secret what had transpired. I was just saving Mrs. Reed from having to leave the class alone and come down to this meeting. And also of course, this was Travis, who'd been nothing but rotten to all of us and who certainly wouldn't have hesitated to speak ill of anyone else, even to the point of lying.
So I politely told what had occurred and underscored the fact that I'd been cheated out of half a slice of bread. When I finished, Mrs. Kermoyan asked Travis if my account was accurate. He agreed it was. Then she looked over at the father to await his comment…and when it came, I couldn't have been more surprised.
He didn't see what the problem was. In fact, he was rather proud of his boy.
"In this world," he said, "you have to grab for everything you can get. You have to knife the other guy before he can knife you…because he will." Then he turned to his son and said, "Good work."
I vividly recall the expression on Mrs. Kermoyan's face. I would not see that expression again for seven more years…not until the release of the movie, The Producers and the "Springtime for Hitler" number. She stammered as she told me I could go back to class and I left her there, pondering I suppose what she could do in this situation. She couldn't exactly punish Travis for being the lad his folks had raised him to be.
An hour or so later, Mrs. Kermoyan's assistant came in and cleared out Travis's desk. We never saw him again, which did not disturb anyone. I'm guessing he was transferred to some other school which was better equipped for dealing with "problem" students. Unfortunately, I don't think the L.A. Unified School District has ever had any schools equipped to dealing with problem parents.
I remember a lot about those days…but I probably recall the incident with Travis most vividly. It was my first real understanding that real people (i.e., those not on television) could be bad people…though in later years, I would substitute other, more nuanced adjectives for "bad." I'd like to think he outgrew that all-encompassing selfishness — a lot of kids I knew did an absolute one-eighty from what they were in school — but who knows? I do know I encounter people from time to time who remind me of Travis and I see an awful lot of them on news talk programs.
As alleged adults, they're usually a lot better at couching their general hoggishness in terms that suggest they're motivated by principles and concern for others. But it's still "me, me, me" all the time. As the economy in this country continues to suck and the job market recovers at about the speed of soil erosion, I see Travis everywhere and I hear echoes of his father, from whom I got a valuable lesson. I don't recall learning anything from Mrs. Reed in fourth grade but I sure learned I didn't want to be like, or even around people like Travis or his dad.