Rebel Without a Cause (25 page)

I know my father used to chase a lot of women. My mother told me. My mother was born in this country and she could read and write and speak English good. I got along alright with her. My mother, my oldest sister and myself were always more like companions. O, we had a few arguments, but they were nothing. Sometimes my mother told me about the things my father used to do: how he used to hit her when they were first married. I was old enough then to think about such things. I didn’t form any hasty opinions.

I think the reason my mother’s godfather left us is that he had an argument with my father.

My father doesn’t drink or smoke but my mother told me that he used to go around in his car picking up women. I don’t know if she ever said anything to him. She said she knew he was doing it.

I’d tell myself when I saw how my mother and father fought that I’d never get married.

I always used to dress neatly, clean clothes; my mother always saw to it that we were clean. She’d try to help me with my ABCs, teach me how to add. My father never did anything like that.

Often I’d go to sleep on the davenport and when I woke up my mother’d be there. I guess she came in during the middle of the night to see if I was comfortable. She’d cry a lot too. She’d argue with my father; he would holler at her so she’d go somewheres by herself and cry and pay no attention to anybody or anything; and she would take my sister or me on her lap and cry. She’d never tell us why she was crying.

He used to say things about my eyes and curse me out.

My sister was a tomboy and he would say things about cutting off my penis and giving it to her.

L: ‘Do you remember him actually saying that?’

When I was around eight or under he would say things like that. He was always telling dirty jokes. I feel there is something there. He said something like that. He used to say those kind of things then, lots of things.

L: ‘Such as …?’

A lot of dirty jokes. He would hint around at the table. When he was telling dirty jokes I didn’t like to hear him tell them in front of my sister and myself. I didn’t like to be around. My mother would holler at him to be quiet. He said something about cutting off my penis and giving it to my sister. She was a tomboy when she was a kid and he’d tease her about it. She’d fight with all the kids. One time there was a kid about my age she had a fight with because he said something about my eyes. She would always hold up like that for me when I was young. I know my father used to fix cars and he made a car once out of an old taxi. He changed the body and painted it up and sold it. I was afraid he’d change my body too. He always said he wished I was the girl instead of my sister. He likes her best. I remember when I was eight he said he wished she was the boy: that she was the best one; she would fight anybody and
was afraid of nobody. He always said I ran to my mother in case anything happened. He would say I was the girl and she was the boy. I remember one time we had a dog, a little dog named Nellie. He would tell me that he would sic the dog on me and the dog would bite off my penis. The dog was a wild dog: she’d bite anybody; and she used to listen to my father and do what he told her. I don’t know whether he actually did sic the dog on me but he said that once or twice. We had the dog for about two or three years when we lived on B—— Street. She got killed by a car: she always chased cars. I guess I was under eight when he said that. He used to threaten me about this dog. The dog bit me one time when I was running past the alley. He said it once or twice in Polish, never in English. In Polish he said he’d sic the dog on me so she’d bite off my penis. I remember one time at the table he said that. My mother came to my rescue and scolded him for saying it. Then she started telling me that Nellie wouldn’t bite me and she called her over and told me to pat her head to see she wouldn’t bite me. It might have been when I was seven. I remember I got along with the dog better after that: she was always with me. I was very small then. I guess my sister wasn’t more than four.

I can see it all; like a picture. My sister, real small. I can see my hands. My sister has dirty-blond hair, straight, cut in front. It seems so real to me. I can see the knicker pants I’ve got on and I feel so small in the chair. My father looks like he always looked to me. I have a distaste for his appearance; he always needs a shave.

L: ‘When your father made that threat, do you remember how you felt? Were you afraid he’d carry it out?’

Yes; I was afraid he would. I didn’t know what to do. When he said that my mother was sitting on the other side of me. She told my father, “What do you want to say things like that for?” She touched my knee, put her hand on my knee and touched it and said, “Don’t worry; Nellie wouldn’t bite you.” Then she called the dog over. The dog was dark-colored and white underneath the chin and neck and throat, and the dog’s tail was wagging as my mother was patting him. She told me, “Pat him on the head, Harold.” I was afraid of dogs for a while after that. His tail was wagging and she kept patting him and saying to me, “He won’t bite you.” The dog
looked at me with such pitiful eyes and he put his head under my leg when I kept on patting him.

L: ‘Was Nellie a he or a she?’

She was a female dog …

When I was about eleven, maybe twelve, Riggs and myself were in the clubhouse together and we were masturbating ourselves, not each other. There wasn’t any discharge. I don’t know if this was the first time or not. I guess it was to find out who could discharge first. We were talking on the street about masturbating and we went into the clubhouse to do it. I don’t think either one of us finished. I have a hard time thinking about how it was when I was younger. I can remember that though. Then we went down by the river that day after we left the clubhouse. It was in the afternoon and we swam until around five o’clock, then went home for supper.

I have another cousin, Benny, who just got married not so long ago. I remember he stole twelve dollars once off his brother. We went to the show together and I remember when we were coming out of the show he dropped a big knife he had; dropped it on the floor and the manager or someone took it away from him. That day before we went into the show we bought a big bag of cakes and cookies and we ate all through the show. I was about nine then.

I am trying to think back further than that. I think my cousin Benny and me laid the same girl once. I’m trying to go back a little further than that.

About my masturbating I don’t remember much other than the incident in the clubhouse. Well, I left H—— Street School and went to St. A—— School. When I was in about seventh grade there was one girl used to sit in back of me who would always pull her dress way up over her knees. I was looking at her and all the fellows sitting around by me. We all had hand mirrors and held it in our palms so we could look back there. This girl knew it, and one time she gave me an emotion. She held her hand as if she was holding a penis and she was moving it back and forth about an inch or so. She asked me to come to her house on M—— Street to see her, but I was afraid to go. I was afraid of the gang on that street.

My favorite occupation was playing truant then. I’d go swimming or just lay around and do nothing. Sometimes I’d go to the show.

I was about nine or less and there was a young girl, one of two sisters. Back of my father’s garage there was a cab body with a seat in it and we were sitting on it. I started playing with her knee and then putting my hand under her dress and playing with her genitals. She kept pushing my hand away and saying, “Stop it!” After about five or ten minutes I had intercourse with her. First she consented to play with my penis and, I don’t know, it gave me such a tickling sensation. I saw her a lot. We’d go in the cab body and play on the seat. I remember she used to lay across the seat and I’d lay on top of her. Sometimes after I was through she’d feel my penis for a while; it was a funny, tickling sensation. I remember when I’d go to bed sometimes my penis would be hard and I’d imagine she was playing with it, so I’d play with it myself. I guess that was how I masturbated the first time. We used to be in the cab body a lot together. I was in the first section, the front of the cab body, myself, and I was imagining that I was driving the cab and I had my hands on the steering wheel. She came through the back of the garage and sat down on the seat beside me. She began pushing the shift on the car back and forth. Then I went to the back and I was jumping up and down on the seat. She came back and jumped up and down with me. She laid down first and I put my head on her chest and started playing with her. I guess that’s how it happened the first time. I was real small then. When she moved away there were several girls there; O, a lot of them. My father’s cousin had been in the World War and he had a part of a soldier’s equipment, a gun and a gas mask and things like that in the cellar. I used to parade with those things down there. Sometimes I would get down there with some girls and maybe I’d wait until everybody would go away except one of the girls and me. Then I would start playing with her and then I would go in one of the corners and masturbate. It seems to me that I liked that tickling sensation. I remember I used to go around with a big hat on and the gas mask in a sack over my shoulder. I would try to make one of the girls and if she didn’t want to I would go in the corner and masturbate. I used to wait until everybody was out of the way.

I also remember now one time we were in the clubhouse. I was about eleven and Riggs told Tony how we were masturbating on the second floor, and Tony looked at me and said, “That’s what’s wrong with your eyes. You jerk off too much!” So then after that I’d
get the feeling that everybody looked at me and knew I masturbated. Another time I broke some lights and padlocks on the railroad with some other fellows and we had to go to court. One fellow in that gang said that the matter with my eyes was that I was masturbating too much. I didn’t go with him after that.

L: ‘Did you think there was any truth in what they said?’

I guess there was.

L: ‘And do you still think so?’

I still do whenever somebody says something about that.

L: ‘When somebody says something about your eyes?’

That’s right.

L: ‘You feel that your masturbation is betrayed by your eyes?’

That’s right. When I was in County Jail that time waiting for my trial there was a doctor there who was taking morphine, and he said that if he saw me on the outside he would think I’d be taking morphine. There was another guy there, an Italian fellow, Beanie we’d call him; he hinted around, he didn’t specify, he didn’t say anything right out, he kind of squinted and said, “What kind of needle do you mean, Doc?” Another fellow made the same remark that time when I was in the County Jail. I used to have the feeling that people knew I was masturbating when they looked at my eyes; they would squint their eyes and it seemed to me they had a sneer on their faces. I despised and hated them. Maybe that was just natural but that they were making fun of me would be always in my mind.

Sometimes I used to masturbate more than necessary, but I don’t know what’s necessary. I figure I never cared whether I did it too much or not enough. When I got older, about sixteen, I didn’t masturbate much, but after I got in trouble I masturbated a lot, and between the ages of sixteen and eighteen also a lot. Perhaps I still think that’s the reason I committed all these crimes—sex, masturbation. I don’t know. I didn’t give a damn. I didn’t care whether the world would stop or keep on going. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t afraid to die. What did I have to lose if I died? One reason

I committed all these crimes was because I didn’t care about anything. When I was going to High School I bummed around with a
fellow named Jimmy and after I got in trouble he said that one reason I held people up and things like that was that I was masturbating too much. I didn’t talk to him again after that either.

When I lived on S—— Street there used to be a girl, Carol, who hung around with my sister a lot. She was about thirteen and I was fifteen. Sometimes she’d come around to our house to see my sister and I’d wait on the front porch for her. I’d lay her right inside the house or on the porch when it was dark. I had her a lot. After I quit school I went up to stay at my uncle’s place for about three months. I masturbated there a lot and when I came back I didn’t see Carol. I didn’t hang around with her anymore because I began going with some of the older guys, fellows that were in the gang with me when I was about twelve years old. That was a big gang. There were about thirty or forty of us. I hung around in poolrooms then and got in bad company. We’d go to the railroad yards and pitch horseshoes most of the day and play pinochle. Then I started drinking because there was a kid that used to belong to the same gang and his father drank a lot. He would be going up and down all the time getting beer. That’s the way it went on. He’d always give me a couple of bottles and when we had a bit of money he’d buy wine and whiskey for us.

I didn’t masturbate very much before I was sixteen, at least not as much as I did after sixteen. When I quit school I tried to get a job. After leaving my uncle’s place I didn’t know what to do. I started to read a lot of junk,
Spicy Detective Stories,
and soon, when I was stimulated by a word or two, I would go into the bathroom and masturbate. I’d read
True Detective Stories
and look at the pictures of nude women and masturbate. My cousin Riggs had some book—I don’t know what it was, it said, “Printed in Habana”—about two French girls. It was really dirty. It was a kind of thin book, only about thirty pages, and it had a lot of dirty pictures in it. I remember I read it on the street near the railroad tracks. After about fifteen minutes I went home and I masturbated in the toilet. I couldn’t get control of myself, couldn’t hold myself back. It was a dirty book.