Whipping Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Allen Kurzweil
recreation.
This is what I remember. Cesar cast himself as Pilate and he gave Paul the part of the centurion, a part Paul was born to play, a part he had been playing since the start of school. Joseph, the kid from Kentucky, was cast as the rabble and Timothy handled sound.
That left only one major casting decision: Who should play Jesus Christ?
“Tie up his hands,” Cesar declared.
{Courtesy of John Vornle}
Cesar, age eleven or twelve.
Paul gleefully obeyed, securing my wrists to the metal crossbars of a bunk with a couple of towels. Timothy was then ordered to cue up the interlude, which comes halfway through“Trial Before Pilate.” While that was taking place, I said and did nothing. Resistance, I knew, would only prolong the performance.
When everything was set, Timothy hit PLAY , and Cesar began lip-syncing:
PILATE :
I see no reason. I find no evil.
This man is harmless, so why does he upset you?
He’s just misguided, thinks he’s important,
But to keep you vultures happy I shall flog him.
Pilate’s proposal—to whip the prisoner—fails to calm the bloodlust of the rabble, which demands nothing short of crucifixion:
THE MOB :
Remember Caesar.
You have a duty
To keep the peace, so crucify him!
Remember Caesar.
You’ll be demoted.
You’ll be deported. Crucify him!
In the Broadway version of the scene, Pilate stands firm, if only temporarily, and has Jesus whipped with clockwork precision thirty-nine times. But in the Belvedere staging, Cesar, doubling as judge and whipmaster and brandishing a belt, took liberties.
One!—THWACK! . . . Two!—THWACK! . . .
Three! . . . Four! . . . Five!—THWACK! . . .
Six! . . . Seven!—THWACK! . . .
Not every syncopated blow heard in the song yielded a correlative crack of the whip. Cesar often lifted his arm, advanced toward meas if to strike, and then stopped. Fake-outs were as much a part of the performance as those moments when the belt made contact. Introducing randomness into the rhythm of abuse appeared to delight Cesar as much as the abuse itself.
Once the interlude was over and I was released, I fled the room and, taking the stairs two at a time, found refuge in a dank corner of the basement filled with potatoes and mice. I stayed there until dinner, doing my best to stop crying by staring at the glowing face of my father’s wristwatch.
T HE F OUNTAIN P EN W ARS
Although the origins of the Fountain Pen Wars remain murky, I am certain of this much: for a few months between late 1971 and early 1972, dozens of Belvedere boys turned writing instruments into semiautomatic weapons, in direct contravention of the Rules, which prohibited pupils below the rank of standard-bearer candidate from storing ink in the dorm. During a brief but exhilarating period of rebellion, the house was polka-dotted by fountain-pen-wielding lower-schoolers who could, with a simple flick, strafe a target fifteen feet away.
Group Captain Watts tried his best to quell our insurrection—tried his best and failed. Sure, Groupie had shot down Luftwaffe pilots during World War II, but those skills were useless when confronting a band of insurrectionists
This is what I remember. Cesar cast himself as Pilate and he gave Paul the part of the centurion, a part Paul was born to play, a part he had been playing since the start of school. Joseph, the kid from Kentucky, was cast as the rabble and Timothy handled sound.
That left only one major casting decision: Who should play Jesus Christ?
“Tie up his hands,” Cesar declared.
{Courtesy of John Vornle}
Cesar, age eleven or twelve.
Paul gleefully obeyed, securing my wrists to the metal crossbars of a bunk with a couple of towels. Timothy was then ordered to cue up the interlude, which comes halfway through“Trial Before Pilate.” While that was taking place, I said and did nothing. Resistance, I knew, would only prolong the performance.
When everything was set, Timothy hit PLAY , and Cesar began lip-syncing:
PILATE :
I see no reason. I find no evil.
This man is harmless, so why does he upset you?
He’s just misguided, thinks he’s important,
But to keep you vultures happy I shall flog him.
Pilate’s proposal—to whip the prisoner—fails to calm the bloodlust of the rabble, which demands nothing short of crucifixion:
THE MOB :
Remember Caesar.
You have a duty
To keep the peace, so crucify him!
Remember Caesar.
You’ll be demoted.
You’ll be deported. Crucify him!
In the Broadway version of the scene, Pilate stands firm, if only temporarily, and has Jesus whipped with clockwork precision thirty-nine times. But in the Belvedere staging, Cesar, doubling as judge and whipmaster and brandishing a belt, took liberties.
One!—THWACK! . . . Two!—THWACK! . . .
Three! . . . Four! . . . Five!—THWACK! . . .
Six! . . . Seven!—THWACK! . . .
Not every syncopated blow heard in the song yielded a correlative crack of the whip. Cesar often lifted his arm, advanced toward meas if to strike, and then stopped. Fake-outs were as much a part of the performance as those moments when the belt made contact. Introducing randomness into the rhythm of abuse appeared to delight Cesar as much as the abuse itself.
Once the interlude was over and I was released, I fled the room and, taking the stairs two at a time, found refuge in a dank corner of the basement filled with potatoes and mice. I stayed there until dinner, doing my best to stop crying by staring at the glowing face of my father’s wristwatch.
T HE F OUNTAIN P EN W ARS
Although the origins of the Fountain Pen Wars remain murky, I am certain of this much: for a few months between late 1971 and early 1972, dozens of Belvedere boys turned writing instruments into semiautomatic weapons, in direct contravention of the Rules, which prohibited pupils below the rank of standard-bearer candidate from storing ink in the dorm. During a brief but exhilarating period of rebellion, the house was polka-dotted by fountain-pen-wielding lower-schoolers who could, with a simple flick, strafe a target fifteen feet away.
Group Captain Watts tried his best to quell our insurrection—tried his best and failed. Sure, Groupie had shot down Luftwaffe pilots during World War II, but those skills were useless when confronting a band of insurrectionists
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