Robert White and Nathan Small could have easily been placed in the senior section, but an extra place or two was made in the junior section.
White and Small were almost always together. In the junior section they were the two biggest, the two strongest, usually laughing, joking, and playing together. Their play quickly turned into bouts of who is the best. Number one. They were friends. They were rivals. Each would vie to out do the other. Each would try to out perform the other. Nate Small was colored; Robert White was white.
Because they were rivals and friends, they sat at the head of the table, right next to Brothers table. Almost in the center of the dining room. They were that close to the power. It was part of the prestige of being the biggest and the best. Because it was a continuing of who is number one: the best--a fight broke out. And with it, racism came into the open.
Upon the table where they and four other boys sat, were two bottles of milk, a quart and a pint. Small and White would share that pint bottle of milk three times a day. It was part of being cool. The pint bottle was more exclusive than the common quart bottle from which the four other students at the table shared.
It so happened that one of the students from that table went home for funeral services. A death in the family.
With one student missing from the table, that pint bottle of milk became more exclusive. It would belong to number one! The biggest. The best. The strongest. That would be whoever grabbed that pint bottle of milk first could have it all to himself. The remaining students at the table would have to take their drink, pouring from the more common quart bottle.
To add to the situation at that time, there was only one Brother supervisor presiding--Brother Elexsis.
The situation went down to: . . . Brother would say Grace. We students would answer Amen. Then protocol had it that we wait for Brother to sit; then we students would sit. We would wait for Brother to start eating; then we students would start to eat. Brother Elexsis would have to make a move for one of his eating utensils--a knife, a fork, or perhaps to take a drink from his glass.
So it was during the sitting down, when one hundred students would be taking their seats, that Robert White and Nathan Small would reach for that lone pint bottle of milk. The quickest would sit-reach-grab-and-slide that exclusive bottle and place it in front of his place setting; all done it one smooth fluid motion.
Propriety called for not reaching for food or drink while one is standing. So the contest consisted of; not only who was the strongest, but also the quickest.
It was not much new to either of the two--Small or White. It was just another contest. (They had had contests before. They wrestled each other in the gym. They grunted and groaned, cried out in mock pain. They half joked as they grabbed and twisted, throwing each other around. Slamming each other on the floor mat laid out on the gymnasium floor. It was colored against white. But they were friends, and allowances were made. Brother Elexsis would sometimes warn the two, trying to modify the roughhousing.)
This contest was about who could quickly be seated and grab that bottle of milk first. It happened three times a day; breakfast, lunch and dinner. The contest had no starting bell or whistle. The line up was opposite sides of the table. The two contestants faced each other and the contest started within the silence that followed the prayer of Grace. The last words: " . . . through Christ our Lord. Amen."
Quickly the two students would sit. Two hands would grab for that pint bottle of milk. One hand colored. One hand white. One hand would go for the lower portion of the bottle. At the same time the opponents hand would grab the neck of the bottle. There would be a brief tug-of-war. One hand would pull and twist; the opponent would counter with his grasp. It was all done silently and had to have been done quickly, because Brother has not given the mandatory signal to begin eating and talking. That was the glitch. That was the hold-up. And was during those days, that sometimes Brother Elexsis would give a downward glance of disproval from his elevated position, from his elevated table.
This contest between Nate Small and Robert White took place right under the nose of Brother Elexsis. Right next to his table, and Brother Elexsis would be ready to quietly consume his meal and at the same time overlook a roomful of one hundred students.
But never mind that. This is a contest of who is the best. The most exclusive. For the white boy it is a contest of wresting his opponents dark hand away from the white bottle of milk. For the colored student it is a contest of respectability, equality, fraternity, all within this white boy school of religiosity.
For a few days it had been a quick slight of hand, but the longer the student who was away on temporary leave, the more the contest between Robert White and Nate Small became more than a game. Their fragile friendship was being tested to the limit. I noticed when Small had won the prize, he offered some to his opponent. White refused the offering. An affront to Small.
The grabbing that bottle of milk became a serious contest. The two students would almost throw their chairs back, slam down into their seat and grab for that bottle. One day it came to a head: The colored boy wins. He wrests the prize from the grip of the white boy. He is equal to the white boy; but, Robert White breaks the rules. He strikes at his rival from across the table. With closed fist, he hits Nate Small flush on the face. It is a solid blow. It was thrown as Mr. White was half seated. The contest has turned from rival, fellow student, to a striking affront before the assembled junior section of one hundred boys.
Not all saw the blow struck. I did. I was waiting, watching. I had seen the scenario brewing for the past few days. The contest had seesawed one way and then the other. There were various glances of warning from Brother Elexsis. It was building to this. This strike, this blow. This was the start of the cafeteria fight. The milk fight.
From across the table Robert White threw the first blow; a right hand, hitting Nate Small flush on the side of his face.
Deliberately, Nate Small sets aside his newly won bottle of milk. He stands up and walks around the table to where Mr. White is seated. He does this casually, nonchalant, as if he is on a Sunday stroll. His arms are loose, his facial expression is non descript; but, he is quite serious.
Robert White just about stands up as Nate Small approaches. He is almost in that half standing, half seated position; that same position that he took that swing and hit Nate Small with.
Nate Small explodes throwing a powerful round house punch and it hits White flush on face.
White is stunned for a moment, a split second; then, chairs are pushed aside. White comes out swinging. He lets loose with a straight right followed with a left.
Nate Small takes that and answers with a hook, and another hook.
White takes those punches and answers with more of his own.
It is fast, furious and powerful. The fight of fights for the championship of the junior section. It is for number one.
White unleashes a right, a left, and a right.
Small takes that and hits back with a hook, a hook, and a hook.
They move to center floor. White is a stand up fighter. He is throwing straight rights and lefts.
Small fights out of a semi crouch. He's a hooker. Left hook, right hook. He is throwing powerful hooks, one right after the other. Both fighters are equal in their determination. Both are strong, giving and taking. The dining tables to the left and right mark out of bounds.
Small moves in throwing powerful shots: hook, hook.
White takes them and answers with powerful shots of his own; straight right, straight left, straight right.
It is hard fought. Both throwing heavy punches. Punches that land. It is for who is the biggest and the best. For who is number one.
They are toe to toe, swinging it out.
Brother Elexsis has jumped up from his seat. He runs to where the fighters are and tries to get between them. He can't. He grabs and pulls on one then the other trying to stop the fight. At long last he manages to maneouver between the two and the fight stops.
Then White throws a punch over the shoulder of Brother Elexsis. First White threw a punch over the table, using the table as a barrier, now he has thrown a punch over the shoulder of Brother Elexsis, using Brother as a shield. This blow over the shoulder of Brother hits Small in the face and Small resumes fighting. He powers past Brother Elexsis pushing him aside. It looks like Brother Elexsis gets an elbow in his face.
Brother grabs Nate Small and is tries to stop him. He can't, so he starts to kick at Nate. Brother Elexsis has Nate Small by the shirt collar and kicks at him. He kicks the leg of Nate Small. Kicks at the leg of that colored boy. Brother Elexsis kicks, kicks, and kicks. Brother Elexsis, the white religious Brother of the Sacred Heart of Jesus is kicking at the colored boy.
It doesn't stop Nate Small. It is another affront within this white boy school, this white man's world. Hook, hook, he swings at Robert White and scores.
White gives ground and answers with punches of his own. Right hand. Left hand.
The fight stops. They've wound down. The slugfest has stopped of its own accord.
Draw! Draw! I surmise, or could give Small the split decision
There is still and air of tension.
"You both have D's." Brother Elexsis angrily tells them.
It's after the fact. Anticlimactic. They have D's for bad conduct: fighting. It ends the friendly rivalry relationship between White and Small. There is no more friendship.
In the rec hall a few days later: I question Robert White. Nate Small is standing nearby, within hearing distance. I say to White, "I thought you were friends."
"That nigger?" He says to me, and he lets his voice carry to the ears of Nate Small.
Small winces. It is a finality. Small, it had appeared could have been open to reparations. It was like he was ready to carry on. To forgive and forget. White wanted none of it. He said the word, nigger. That was it. No more wrestling, no more games. It was over. Whatever friendship there was, ended.
Nate Small left school. As I saw it, he didn't want any more racist white boys and those white Brother's of the Sacred Heart of Jesus kicking at him. And his father backed him up. Yes, his father, a colored man, backed his son up in his decision to leave the bastard school of Mount Saint Charles Academy. I had seen the two, father and son. His father had come to school a weekend or so later and conversed with his son. I saw them talking. It was decision time. Could it have been: Fuck this bastard white boy school, or some other such unspoken words.
Goddamn! My bastard father wouldn't think of such a thing. Backing me up. Goddamn! So who's the nigger now white boy? Why it's me! David Emmanuel Faria, that's who. Goddamn.
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