BIG-­TIME  CRUSHES,    

BORING  CLASSES:  
Stephen  Bloom’s  
 junior  high  was    
just  like  any  other.    
Oh,  except  for    
the  raving  mad,    
chainsaw-­wielding  
Shop  teacher.

The
Shop Class
Chainsaw
Incident PHOTO  Whiskeygonebad/Flickr

When  I  was  in  junior  high,  Lynn  Sloan  was  my  fantasy.  She  had  everything—tawny  tresses  that  
cascaded  to  honey-­hued  shoulders;;  pendulous,  melon-­sized  breasts;;  mile-­long  legs.  Lynn  was  a  12  
before  10  became  the  national  standard.

/\QQZDVVRRXWUDJHRXVO\JRUJHRXVWKDWVKHVWRSSHGWUDI¿F:KHQHYHUWKHUHZDVD/\QQ6ORDQ  
sighting,  everyone—boys  and  girls  alike—froze.  Boys  wanted  her;;  girls  wanted  to  be  her.  In  the    
cafeteria,  Lynn  sat  at  the  Table  of  Beautiful  Girls,  a  select  group  of  pulchritude,  although  none  of  

    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011 1

these  Lynn  Sloan  wannabes  came  even  close.  Lynn  was  a  goddess.

Of  course,  I  had  as  much  chance  with  Lynn  Sloan  as  I  had  with  Ann  Margaret.  Did  Lynn  Sloan  even  
know  who  I  was?  Fat  chance.

Until  the  day  I  became  a  hero.  Until  the  day  I  changed  the  world.

That  was  the  day  Lynn  Sloan  spoke  to  me.

**
Boys  in  my  junior  high  school  were  required  to  take  Shop  class,  just  as  the  girls  had  to  enroll  in  Home  
Economics.  Home  Ec  was  taught  by  Miss  Hughes,  a  perky  woman  in  her  mid-­30s  with  a  Patti  Page  
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WKUHHIROGSDVVDWHVWRQKRZWR¿[DWRLOHWFXUO ABOUT  STEPHEN  G.  BLOOM  
and  solder  metal  sheets  to  a  Maxwell  House     Stephen  G.  Bloom,  a  professor  
Coffee  tin  to  make  a  watering  can  that  didn’t   of  journalism  at  the  University  
leak;;  and  saw,  plane,  and  stain  scraps  of  pine     of  Iowa,  is  the  author  of    
Postviile:  A  Clash  of  Cultures    
to  build  a  napkin  holder.
in  Heartland  America,  Inside  the  Writer’s  
No  one  gave  a  shit  about  Shop.  For  some     MInd,  The  Oxford  Project  (with  Peter  
reason,  all  the  boys  I  knew  were  after  the     Feldstein),  and  Tears  of  Mermaids:  The  
Secret  Story  of  Pearls.  He  writes  frequently  
glamour  profession—law—although  no  one    
about  things  guys  talk  about  when  they’re  
quite  knew  what  exactly  a  lawyer  did.  Medicine   not  around  women.  Check  out  more  here.
was  messy.  It  involved  blood,  and  my  friends  
fainted  at  the  sight  of  borscht.  Law  was  vaguely  
about  prestige,  facing  the  jury,  doing  something  right  for  people  who  had  money  to  pay  you—and    
IRUWKRVHZKRGLGQ¶WOLNH(*0DUVKDOO¶VFOLHQWVLQ³7KH'HIHQGHUV´/DZZDVDERXWEHLQJDQDGXOW
wearing  a  suit,  being  married  to  a  woman  in  capris,  cruising  around  town  in  a  convertible.

Shop  was  a  dead-­end.  It  prepared  you  to  be  a  carpenter  or  a  plumber  (was  I  ever  behind  the  curve  on  
that  one).  The  goal  was  to  become,  if  not  a  lawyer,  at  least  a  white-­collar  professional,  someone  who  
VKXIÀHVSDSHUVDOOGD\ORQJQRWWKHJUXQWZKRVQDNHVVHZHUOLQHV

    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011 2

**
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WRVHHZKDWP\EXGG\-HII'HQEXUJZDVGRLQJ-XVWDV,ZDVEDODQFLQJRQWKHWLSVRIP\:HHMXQVWR
ORRNWKURXJKWKHZLQGRZLQWKHFODVVGRRU:KLWWOHEUXVKVSRWWHGPHRXWRIWKHFRUQHURIKLVH\H

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:KDWKDGJRWWHQLQWRKLP"'HFDIIHLQDWHGFRIIHH"

:KLWWOHEUXVKKDGDUHSXWDWLRQIRUD¿HQGLVKWHPSHUEXWWKLVZDVDQHZORZ6LWWLQJFUXPSOHGDJDLQVW
the  wall,  I  gasped  for  breath,  as  much  out  of  shock  as  out  of  fear.

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WHDFKHU¶VFODVVURRP´:KLWWOHEUXVKEHOORZHGDWWKHWRSRIKLVOXQJV7KHVFKRROURRIPXVWKDYHOLIWHGD
foot.

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KRZLWVHHPHGWRPHVSUDZOHGRQWKHÀRRUORRNLQJXSDWWKH,QFUHGLEOH+XON,IP\PRWKHUKDGQ¶W
insisted  that  I  made  a  bowel  movement  every  morning,  I  surely  would  have  shit  my  pants.

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My  time  to  be  a  man  had     ³<RXXQGHUVWDQGPH"´
DUULYHG:KLOHVWLOOZLWKHULQJRQ :KDWKDG,GRQHWRVTXHH]HKLVJRQDGV"
WKHÀRRU:KLWWOHEUXVKFDPH   0D\EH:KLWWOHEUXVK¶VZLIHKDGWDONHGEDFNWR
closer,  surely  to  administer     him  that  morning.  Maybe  he  was  unloading  on  
RXUSDUHQWVZKRGLVVHG:KLWWOHEUXVKE\QHYHU
punishment.  It  was  then   showing  up  for  parent-­teacher  conferences.  
ZKHQ,ÀLQFKHG,URVHWRP\ 0D\EH:KLWWOHEUXVKZDVSLVVHGEHFDXVHKH
wasn’t  making  $13.50  an  hour  installing  Sears  
feet.  My  backbone  stiffened.   dishwashers.
My  chest  puffed.  “Stay  away,   1RPDWWHU:KLWWOHEUXVKKDGLQWLPLGDWHGDJHQ-­
:KLWWOHEUXVK´ eration  of  boys  with  his  mean  Shop  machismo.  
He  was  one  sick  fuck.  No  wonder  Shop  had  such  
DORXV\UHSXWDWLRQ7RGD\:KLWWOHEUXVKZRXOGEHRQDGDLO\GRXEOHGRVHRI/LWKLXPZLWKDQ(IIH[RU
chaser.  He’d  be  in  Greystone  Hospital,  or  perhaps  Rahway  State  Prison.

In  the  nanosecond  while  I  was  pondering  all  these  incalculables,  I  heard  something  far  off  in  the  

    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011 3

GLVWDQFH7KHIDLQWFUHVFHQGRRIDGUXPUROOWKHQWKHJDWKHULQJÀRXULVKRIWUXPSHWV7KHPXVLFVXUHO\
came  from  Mr.  Miller’s  band  room,  but  today  I  choose  to  believe  it  originated  inside  my  head.  The  
fanfare  was  unmistakable:  a  direct  and  personal  call  to  action.

There  comes  a  time  in  each  of  us  when  we  no  
By  now,  40  or  so  classmates   longer  can  accept  the  accumulation  of  crimes  
had  formed  a  tight  circle   against  humanity.  For  the  sake  of  the  thousands  

DURXQG:KLWWOHEUXVKDQG of  boys  who’d  gone  before  me,  I  could  no  longer  

lay  crumpled  and  wounded,  pathetic  prey  at  the  
me.  They  were  mesmerized,   SDZVRI:KLWWOHEUXVK0\WLPHWREHDPDQKDG
primed  for  bloodied  knuckles,   arrived.

busted  jaws,  the  clean  snap   :KLOHVWLOOZLWKHULQJRQWKHÀRRU:KLWWOHEUXVK

came  closer,  surely  to  administer  punishment.    
of  a  broken  nose.  Someone   I  rose  to  my  feet.  My  backbone  stiffened.  My  
could  have  taken  bets  and   chest  puffed.

made  a  fortune. ³6WD\DZD\:KLWWOHEUXVK´,VDLGZLWKVWHHO\

nerves.

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)RUGHFDGHVER\VKDGEHHQWDNLQJ:KLWWOHEUXVK¶VVKLWDQGQRRQHKDGWKHEDOOVWRWHOOWKH  
motherfucker  off.

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+LVEOXHH\HVQDUURZHGLQWRVOLWV,I:KLWWOHEUXVKDWWKDWPRPHQWKDGEHHQKRRNHGXSWRDQHOHFWULFDO
generator,  he  would  have  been  able  to  power  the  cities  of  Passaic  and  Nutley.

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³$++++8*********+´

And  then  he  came  for  me.

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No  matter  how  outmatched  I  was,  I  was  ready  to  meet  my  maker.

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mesmerized,  primed  for  bloodied  knuckles,  busted  jaws,  the  clean  snap  of  a  broken  nose.  Someone  
could  have  taken  bets  and  made  a  fortune.

7KHLGLRWVURRWHGIRU:KLWWOHEUXVKWRSXOYHUL]HPH7KH\ZHUHWKHJUHDVHUVWKHOHVVIRUWXQDWHWKH

    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011 4

ER\VZKR¶GJURZXSWREHFRPHPHWKGHDOHUV:DOPDUWVWRFNHUVDQGPDWWUHVVPRYHUV

They  were  the  minority,  though.  Most  everyone  was  rooting  for  me.  I  was  Crusader  Rabbit,  Sherman,  
David  beating  the  shit  out  of  Goliath,  all  wrapped  into  one.

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I  saw  in  his  right  hand  he  was  holding  something  metal  and  something  large.

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soldering  iron.  Or  maybe  the  Iron  Claw,  a  torture  device  he  kept  in  a  glass  box  on  his  desk.  But—

+2/<027+(52)*2'

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Talk  about  upping  the  ante.

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saw’s  rotary  blade,  which  sputtered  and  revved  until  it  was  spinning  at  2,000  RPM.

7KHWLJKWFLUFOHRIER\VJRWODUJHU0RUHDQGPRUHMRLQHGLQWRZLWQHVVWKHVSHFWDFOHRI:KLWWOHEUXVK
going  nuts.

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WKLVRQ\RX"´:KLWWOHEUXVKWDXQWHGVWDFFDWRWKUXVWLQJWKHFKDLQVDZZLWKKLVULJKWKDQGWRZDUGP\
face,  as  the  blade  spun  and  buzzed.

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**
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would  eventually  inspire  the  movie.)

Bravery  was  one  thing.  Turning  into  a  stump  at  the  hands  of  a  sociopath  was  another.  I  scrambled  to  
my  feet,  broke  through  the  ring  of  boys,  and  made  a  break  for  the  stairs,  careening  down  corridors,  
UXQQLQJDVIDVWDV,FRXOGXQWLO,JRWWR3ULQFLSDO%D[WHU¶VRI¿FH

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DFKDLQVDZ´

    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011 5

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The  school’s  gym  teachers,  Mr.  Frampton,  Mr.  Lambakin,  and  Mr.  Fletcher,  had  by  then  converged  at  
WKH6KRSFODVVURRPKXQFKHGOLNH6XPRZUHVWOHUVVXUURXQGLQJ:KLWWOHEUXVKZKRZDVVWLOOVHHWKLQJ
He  held  out  the  whirring  chainsaw  like  it  was  a  torch,  taunting  anyone  who  came  near  him.

³,¶OOFKRS\RXWRELWVDQGSLHFHV´:KLWWOHEUXVKVKRXWHGWKUXVWLQJIRUWKWKHFKDLQVDZFORVHWRDQ\RQH
ZKRPDGHDPRYH³6WD\DZD\,WHOO\RXVWD\DZD\²RU\RX¶OOEHVRUU\´

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JRQQDKXUWVRPHRQH´

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:KLWWOHEUXVK

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jig  was  up.  His  whole  demeanor  changed.  He   Not  the  kinds  of  men  to  walk  
looked  down,  slowly  turned  off  the  chainsaw,   away  from  beating  the  shit  out  
DQGSODFHGLWRQWKHÀRRU7KHGHDIHQLQJURDU
of  the  rotary  blade  took  10  seconds  to  stop,  
of  another  human  being,  the  
and  presently  there  was  a  deafening  silence.  A   three  gym  teachers  grunted.  
standoff  of  sorts  apparently  had  been  reached.

Not  the  kinds  of  men  to  walk  away  from  beating  the  shit  out  of  another  human  being,  the  three  gym  
WHDFKHUVJUXQWHG7KH\ZHUHVWLOOFURXFKHGEDFNVDUFKHGDVWKH\VXUURXQGHG:KLWWOHEUXVKKRSLQJ
for  a  takedown.

6XGGHQO\:KLWWOHEUXVKFDPHEDFNWROLIH:KLWWOHEUXVKORRNHGXSH\HVEOD]LQJWKHQKHFKDUJHG
/DPEDNLQ:KLWWOHEUXVKKDGWXUQHGKLPVHOILQWRDKXPDQFDQQRQEDOO

$V:KLWWOHEUXVKDQG/DPEDNLQZHUHEHDWLQJWKHVKLWRXWRIHDFKRWKHU)UDPSWRQDQG)OHWFKHUKDG
FOLPEHGDWRS:KLWWOHEUXVK¶VEDFNDVWKRXJKWKH\ZHUHULGLQJ0LJKW\-RH<RXQJ:KLWWOHEUXVKEXFNHG
them  both  off  with  ease.

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:KHQZHUHWKHDQLPDOFRQWURORI¿FHUVJRLQJWRWKURZDQHWRYHU:KLWWOHEUXVKDQGVKRRWKLPZLWKD
tranquilizer  gun?

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ZLSHGXSWKHÀRRUZLWK/DPEDNLQ%D[WHUSXWKLVDUPVDURXQG:KLWWOHEUXVKKXJJLQJKLPWLJKWO\  
Baxter  had  become  a  human  straitjacket.

    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011 6

,WZDVRQO\WKHQZKHQ:KLWWOHEUXVKEURNHGRZQDQGEHJDQVREELQJKLVELJFKHVWKHDYLQJ+H  
FUXPSOHGWRWKHÀRRUDQGFRXOGQ¶WVWRSFU\LQJ

%D[WHUKDGFRPHWKURXJK7KH.HQQHG\$GPLQLVWUDWLRQ
:LWK:KLWWOHEUXVKJRQH   should  have  hired  him  to  negotiate  an  end  to  the  Cuban  
I  had  become  a  hero.     Missile  Crisis.

)RUJHW$QG\:DUKRO %D[WHUDQG:KLWWOHEUXVKZDONHGPHWKRGLFDOO\RQH  
labored  foot  in  front  of  the  other.  Fifty  or  so  boys  followed  
WKHSDLUWDONLQJLQDQDQLPDWHGIDVKLRQ:KDWDVKRZ7RPP\3DJOLDDJX\ZKRXVHGWRH[WRUWPRQH\
from  freshmen,  put  his  arm  around  me.

**
:KLWWOHEUXVKQHYHUVKRZHGXSIRUZRUNDJDLQ:RUGVSUHDGIDUDQGZLGHWKDWKHKDGFUDFNHG1R
one  ever  found  out  what  happened  to  him.  I  imagined  the  little  men  in  the  white  coats  drove  him  to  a  
sanatorium,  where  he  was  put  in  a  padded  cell,  mumbling  nonstop  about  sawdust  and  rotary  saws.

:LWK:KLWWOHEUXVKJRQH,KDGEHFRPHDKHUR)RUJHW$QG\:DUKRO0\IDPHODVWHGPRQWKVDW  
OHDVWWLOOWKHHQGRIWKHVFKRRO\HDU:KHQ,ZDONHGGRZQWKHKDOOKXQGUHGVRIVWXGHQWVZKR  
KHUHWRIRUHKDGQ¶WNQRZQ,H[LVWHGZRXOG\HOO³:D\WRJR´2WKHUNLGVZRXOGSRLQWWRPHDQG  
whisper  in  reverential  tones.  Some  just  stared  in  awe.

And  then  it  happened.

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came  over  to  me,  smiled  again,  and  purred  two  words:

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:KHQ,RSHQHGP\PRXWKWRUHSO\/\QQ6ORDQKDGDOUHDG\GLVDSSHDUHGWRMRLQWKH7DEOHRIWKH  
Beautiful  Girls.

But  that  was  all  right.  I  was  walking  on  air.

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take  over  the  class  (must  have  been  the  backlog  of  broken  radios  and  toasters),  so  I  got  another  high  
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To  this  day,  I  can’t  hammer  a  nail  straight,  but  it  doesn’t  bother  me.  I  owe  that  and  the  dawning  of  my  
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    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011 7

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    By  Stephen  G.  Bloom      January  6,  2011