Good News Friday ... Or, a Story To Make You Sob

You know, if I had a nickel for every stupid thing I've done, I'd literally have a boatload of nickels. And, many of those coins would come from the dumb things I did, and said, when I was younger. Which is why this story appeals to me.

See, there once was a twelve-year-old boy named Larry Israelson, who did something he only later realized probably hurt his seventh-grade teacher. It wasn't a big deal, I guess, I mean, he was twelve, what did he know? 

James Atteberry

But now he's older, and, as happens, or as one hopes would happen, he's also wiser. And Larry decided it was time to find that teacher, James Atteberry, and apologize. But Atteberry had vanished and Larry couldn't help but wonder where he'd gone and how he might track him down. 

He Googled and had no luck; he tried every search engine to no avail. But then, just a few months back, thirty-nine years since he was a twelve-year-old boy, Larry got a hit from a two-year-old article in The Oregonian. There was a picture of his teacher. 

Larry instantly sent an email to the paper and a clerk forwarded to the author of the piece. The subject line read  "Customer Feedback" and the reporter, Tom Hallman, for some reason, decided to read it: 

You published an item involving retired teacher James Atteberry and the CASA program. Mr. Atteberry was a teacher of mine in the early '70s, and I wish to apologize to him for a regrettable incident that occurred when I was his student. Can you provide any contact information for him, or would you be willing to serve as an intermediary and deliver a message on my behalf? Thank you for your time, and I await your reply. 

Hallman reread his old story and found a number for James Atteberry. He called, and left a message, but he also emailed Larry Israelson and asked why he wanted to contact Atteberry, and Larry said he just wanted to apologize.

Weeks later, Atteberry returned Tom Hallman 's call and when he learned of his former student's desire to apologize, he told Hallman to contact Larry and see what happened. Hallman soon received a sealed envelope that he instantly forwarded to James Atteberry.

James Atteberry got the letter and read it. He was immediately transported back to 1973 when he was a middle-school teacher in Huntington Beach. He was 37 back then, and quite a popular teacher, among both students and faculty. He was also gay, and at a time when politicians were working to root out gay teachers:

"If a teacher was found to be gay, his contract would not be renewed. Gay teachers kept their mouths shut. People of this era might not understand it. But it was intense time. An art teacher in the school made a stupid mistake, and that was the end of his career. I never talked about my life."

But somehow Larry Israelson knew, and said in his letter:

"I am truly sorry for asking to be transferred out of your seventh grade social studies class at Sowers Middle School during the 1972-73 school year .... I don't have many specific memories from my two years at Sowers, but at the top of one of my assignments you wrote 'You will go far in life. Your command of the English language is exceptional.' Looking back on my younger self, I am certain that I reveled in being one of the 'teacher's pets.' As comfortable as I was in a classroom, however, the boy's locker room was something else entirely."

Today, Larry Israelson is a tall, athletic man, over 6 feet 5, but at age twelve he was "a scrawny little kid who wore glasses and was into books. I lived in a beach town, yet I couldn't tan. I was very pale. A lot of the athletic guys loved to tease those of us who were weak." 

And he was about to be bullied.

Some students suspected that Atteberry was gay, and one boy even asked Attberry in class what he thought about that proposed law banning gay teachers. When Atteberry asked why he asked the question, the student said his father had told him to do it. Atteberry responded carefully, so as not to out himself and lose his career.

But it was this open secret that made Larry Israelson a target. 

See, Larry was a good student, very bright, almost a teacher's pet. And, well, if you're the teacher's favorite and the teacher is suspected of being gay, then you must be gay, too.

The boys began picking on Israelson. They started saying 'Larry' and then 'fairy' and rhyming it with 'Atteberry.' Israelson Larry begged them to stop and was challenged to a fight. He took a couple of punches, and then gave up, which certainly did nothing to stem the tide of bullying. The teasing continued, becoming more sexually explicit and graphic. Israelson told no one. One day, when he could no longer stand it, he showed up at the principal's office and said he needed to leave Atteberry's class. The principal couldn't understand why. His grades were good.

"He kept pressing me," Israelson said. "I wouldn't say." 

So the principal signed a transfer slip and handed it to Israelson, who took it into Atteberry's class, interrupting the class, and handed it to his teacher. Then he gathered up his book s and left.

"There was no goodbye, no explanation," Israelson said. "I just disappeared. I never talked to Mr. Atteberry again."

Larry had thought he'd done the right thing, but many years later, he learned the truth of what he'd done. See, Larry Israelson, an Anglo, married into a Mexican-American family and after about ten years--two children--his brother-in-law asked if he could take Israelson out for a beer and a chat. He quickly got to the point.

"He apologized," Larry said. "He said that he hadn't wanted an Anglo in the family. He'd lobbied behind the scenes to try and get his sister to break up with me. He said he'd felt bad about it for all these years. He decided it was finally time to make it right." 

In that instant, Larry Israelson remembered James Atteberry; and began his search.

And, in that sealed envelope that Tom Hallman forwarded to James Atteberry was an essay written by the adult Larry Israelson. He expected nothing in return, he simply wanted to apologize for letting the bullies win, for not standing up, for himself, and for James Attberry.

But, as Attberry read the essay, he remembered his victimization at the hands of bullies, some sixty years earlier. Two athletes had grabbed him when he was walking home, made him pull down his pants and whipped him with a belt. He also told no one. But this letter, this essay, coming from nowhere, forced Atteberry to come to terms with his own past. He was not alone. 

More than 1,000 miles away, a phone rang.  A man answered. 

"Larry," a voice on the other end said, "this is your teacher."

Okay, I've had my cry, now it's your turn.

source OregonLive