I honestly believe Donald Trump had the 2020 Presidential Election stolen from him by the Democrats/Deep State.
I have a personal tale to tell and, as usual, we’re going around the houses to get there.
I’m not on social media by choice. I joined Facebook and Instagram to memorialise my late wife’s accounts. I do keep happening upon the odd post during my forays.
One of my former teachers has passed away. Mike Drage, a Religious Ed teacher — I’ll cover him in greater detail in another post. He was quite influential in so many of our lives.
What caught my eye was a comment by a very good friend. He was waxing lyrical about Mike but included the phrase, “inspired me to be Head Boy.”
Whoa!
I checked in with another friend, questioning this historical revisionism. It was confirmed.
We had no Head Boy that year.
I knew it anyway, but I had to check my recollection.
The reason I knew we had no Head Boy that year was because the election was cancelled.
And who, you may ask, was the Donald Trump of the 1988 election?
C’est moi!
As my friend has since pointed out, “Who cares who was Head Boy of a parochial comprehensive school anyway?”
Fair point. But it is a story worth telling.
Head Boy and Head Girl were roles for Upper VI Form pupils, elected by the whole cohort. We had a VI Form committee, but the candidates did not need to come from that student body.
The election was administered by school staff — VI tutors and the Head of VI Form.
Back in those days, as well as our academic curriculum, we had “General Studies”, which involved various topics and discussions. The previous year, 1987, had been a General Election year. In the UK there had been much discussion about the dominance of the two main parties, Conservative and Labour, and the emergence of smaller parties, particularly the Liberal/SDP Alliance.
We had discussed the fact that the UK’s electoral system favoured the big two parties.
The upshot was that it was decided our Head Boy/Girl election would involve Proportional Representation (PR).
Nominations were opened and candidates were posted on our notice board.
I was the incumbent VI Form Treasurer. I had a decent track record. I had boosted funds and actually spent money on amenities — stereos, dartboards and assorted stuff for the common rooms.
First tangent.
I am someone who enjoys detail. I am one of the only members of my organisation who reads all the papers from management, committees, etc. It is very enlightening, and people assume no one actually cares.
I read up on PR.
What caught my attention was the presence of a “second preferential vote”.
I reasoned that I didn’t need to be an outstanding candidate. I just had to have enough support to carry me through the first round.
I threw my hat in the ring.
We voted. Votes were counted and announced.
Four candidates were put forward for the second round: the two winners and the two with the most second votes — of whom I was one.
What appeared to be a simple process was about to descend into chaos and farce.
The two first-place candidates withdrew.
I was left in a two-horse race with a chap called Henry L.
For context, we had been friends. I had been to his house and was quite friendly with his younger brother.
But, for the sake of this story, we had history.
The authorities were in a panic.
The election was now between the Establishment Candidate and the Enfant Terrible.
Get a cup of tea or leave now.
A massive tangent is required.
First off, my controversial views on bullying.
Bullying has various manifestations. It is a societal/tribal control mechanism. One acts outside the accepted boundaries of the tribe; the tribe takes action to bring order.
Being bullied isn’t nice. Accepted.
Rewind to the start of Year 10.
We’d all been off doing summer things. Henry L had spent the summer at the Theatre Royal, Bath. He came back a very different chap.
He was full of himself.
In hindsight, he had spent the summer being groomed by some pervert at the Theatre called “John”. Henry was too “cock-sure” for us and had a “hint of lavender” about him.
What started as an annoyance grew into social exclusion and eventually what the school characterised as bullying.
Now, it was a broad response across the year group, but after investigation a core of five perpetrators was identified, of which I was one.
We were called into our Head of Year’s office — John Reagan, actually a really nice and decent bloke.
And so began a scene from The Usual Suspects.
We were lined up in apparent order of culpability, the nearest to John Reagan being the most culpable.
Me.
We had the lecture. The interrogation. The staff were in control.
Then Reagan made a fatal misstep.
He asked:
“Has any of you experienced bullying?”
And so it began.
We all said yes.
Starting at the far end, it went like this.
Jon C: “Because I’m fat, Sir.”
Jon A: “Because I’m tall, Sir.”
Steve K: “Because of my spots, Sir.”
Dom D: “Because I’m black, Sir.”
Then it was my turn, and everyone knew what was coming.
I was Ginger.
So when I announced, “Because I’m circumcised, Sir,” the ensemble was blindsided.
There was palpable tension.
John Reagan had gone puce.
We all just burst out laughing.
The spell was broken.
Reagan went mad and, after an extended tirade, we were dismissed.
Never one to quit when I’m ahead, I said, “That could’ve been worse,” as I passed the open office of Trevor Johnson, Head of Year 11.
I didn’t make it out of the building before I was hauled back in before Reagan and Johnson.
Result: I was put on report.
“Report” was a behaviour-management tool. At the beginning of the week you picked up a form for the week. At the end of each lesson, the class teacher commented on your behaviour and signed it.
It wasn’t for a set period but for a period associated with the severity of your crime.
The school record was Al G. He’d been on report for 28 weeks in Year 9. I cannot remember what for.
Reviews were held on Friday lunchtime.
Week 27 went by and I had an impeccable record.
I came out of Reagan’s office.
I had become our very own “Hilts” from The Great Escape.
My mates would gather to receive me on another trip back from the cooler. There was considerable anticipation that I was about to equal Al’s record and soon beat it.
The fact that I was thriving on the coming notoriety fed back to Reagan.
That afternoon I was called in and taken off report.
So, back to the election.
I was going to win.
I was going to win by a landslide.
Henry L had no constituency.
All I had to do was sit tight.
Julius Caesar said, “It’s only hubris if I fail.”
We didn’t want a landslide.
We wanted annihilation.
On the eve of the election, My Campaign Manager (Steve K of earlier mention) & I posted some regrettable campaign material:
“Henry L sucks dogs’ balls and a certain influential person’s hairy dirt-box. Vote [me].”
The rest is history.
The election was cancelled.
I was suspended/excluded from school for two weeks.
And no, we did not have a Head Boy that year.
There’s always a positive to take. What did it teach my 17yr old self? Girls really do love a bad boy!
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