Doug (‘Buttkicker’ was bastardizing nickname from his actual surname) was one of those ‘older kids’ that made you gulp when you saw him.
Towering well over 6 feet, wavy hair, and a chin always begging for a shave. Unlike many of school’s so-called rebels, he did not have long hair. But he always wore jeans and a beat up army-surplus coat. As you might have guessed, he came from poor town. His aura always proceeded him. He had a rep of someone who was not to be messed with, even though he didn’t carry a scowl.
Worse, he had a TATOO. In the sixties, only supreme badasses and motor cycle gangs had tats. Tattoo parlors were rare, and they were always off the grid, like in someone’s house. But, adding to the mystique, no one knew what his tat said. Was it a switchblade, a bleeding heart, or a swastika??? One thing for sure, it sure wasn’t Snoopy.
Tales of Doug were the stuff of legends. He supposedly beat up the fifth grade bully when he was in third grade. He sassed cops, crossed street wherever he pleased, flipped off bus drivers, and supposedly carried an old lady out of her burning house. He had played football at one time in poor town, but had quit for being picked on by the coach. Now he was a senior in the ‘jointure’ and the rich boys were cowed by his strength and athleticism in gym class. Rich girls by and large turned up their noses, but I’m betting some thought about the ‘bad boy’ before they went to bed.
He drove a big blue car (probably a Chevy) that he tweaked and massaged faithfully. He was rumored to have different after school jobs–hauling creates in one of the large factories, cleaning a corner store, delivering TV’s, and landscaping. Also, he was described as a major weed user (or dealer, depending on who was telling the story), and someone who was never carded when buying beer. The alleged scheme went like this: collect money during the week and come Friday night, he arrived at a discrete garage with a trunk/back seat loaded with beer. Underage customers grabbed their stash and split; the whole process took only a few minutes. Then Doug vanished. Some rich boys chafed at his prices, but his dependability was guaranteed.
And the fighting. Stories had been making the rounds for years in poor town–beating up multiple aggressors, lifting kids off the ground, taking guys out with one punch, breaking ribs and appendages………but he never hit anyone when they were down. By now, his fighting days appeared to be over. He had a longer fuse, they said, and he preferred to play his cards face down.
There were 2 or 3 guys that clung to his shadow; they always seemed to materialize. He had a girlfriend, they said; but she was in in a neighboring school district (enemy territory). Since no one ever saw her first hand, the gf was variously described as ordinary or stunning, blonde or redhead, rich or poor.