The bully dilemma

Last week in Washington, D.C., there was a national conference on the "bullying problem" which some say has become epidemic, especially among teenagers. It now goes far beyond the age-old school ground stuff because the Internet provides a hiding place for bullies who are also cowards because they can hurt others without revealing their true identity. This conference was triggered by a 16-year-old boy who committed suicide after being cruelly belittled on Facebook. President Barack Obama and the First Lady spoke to the conference leaders at the White House, where the president reported he had his share of bullying, what with his "big ears and funny name."

My dictionary says a bully is "someone who hurts, frightens, or terrorizes those who are smaller or weaker." Sure! There has always been adolescent bullying. As I recall, in my school days the occasional bully was usually put in his or her place by peer pressure; however, the advent of the computer has provided a strange new situation, especially in larger schools. Hope is this newly organized national movement will find some solutions.

As one of smallest freshman boys at Flathead High in 1942, I did not get undue harassment; however, in the summer of 1944 I worked on a "brush crew" in the Flathead National Forest. About 20 high school boys lived in a tent camp. One kid was bigger than most and took advantage of that fact by forcefully "borrowing" other's things, demanding a better seat in the mess hall, going to the front of the chow line, etc. The more he got away with, the more he tried - standard bully tactic. One evening he waited until I had my ax honed to a fine edge then came over and "traded" with me. His had rock nicks and a blade that wouldn't cut butter.

We had one other larger guy there named Barney, so I went to see if he would take "Bully Boy" down a notch or two. With his usual sense of humor, Barney grinned and said, "Sure! Lets go over to Bully Boy's tent and get your axe back." When we came in the tent, Bully Boy was sitting on a cot and Barney said, "George tells me you took his ax and he wants it back." Bully just kept sittin' there and replies, "What if I don't want to give it back?"

That's when Barney set me up. "Wellll! George says he might have to kick the hell outta ya."

Oh! Oh! Bully Boy stood up. I didn't know whether to hit him, hide behind Barney or run. Options were limited and none looked good. There were other guys instantly watching all this, so I took a chance ... hit the bully two inches above the belt buckle with every muscle in my scrawny 16-year-old body. He turned out to be soft in the middle and folded up like an uncooked pretzel. I retrieved my ax, then told him he'd better quit bullying people because if he didn't, "Barney will beat you to a pulp."

From the school rooms to the power corridors of nations, there runs a vein of bullying. There is correlation here. Current and past dictator madmen are afflicted by a distorted sense of power over others ... only a million times worse. How many lives might have been saved if free men had stopped Adolph Hitler when he went in to the Rhineland? That question still lives in the conscience of humans beyond count; but I remember the rationalization, "Well, that part of Europe sort of belongs to Germany." We didn't stop him when he went into Austria. We ignored Prime Minister of Japan Hideki Tojo's sweeps into the South Seas and the Asian mainland. He only got our undivided attention when he bombed Pearl Harbor.

Each generation seems to inherit the curse of madmen, bullies to be dealt with. Libya's Muammar Gaddafi is one of many we have now.

What I have learned in my lifetime about bullies all began at that remote Coram Bush Camp. You hit ‘em with everything you've got ... about two inches above the belt buckle.

G. George Ostrom is a national-award winning Hungry Horse News columnist. He lives in Kalispell.