March 5, 1973

Monday night, Barb, Pam, a staff member from Susquehanna, and I were busily painting the steps in preparation for the TV men coming Tuesday night. Frostie came in, in a nasty mood. He was mad at Barb for something. So he crumbled a cookie over my freshly painted step. Then he scraped off wet paint on the floor I was painting. Needless to say, I was extremely irritated. But I didn't say anything to him. I knew better. I went and told Barb, and then gave him the cold shoulder--wouldn't even look at him or speak to him.

There had been so much growth--he was so much nicer to be around in the past few weeks--that it was disgusting to see him act this way.

After finishing up, Pam received a phone call from Stu, her boyfriend. Pam was on silence because she had just had a bump removed from her vocal folds--she wasn't supposed to talk for two weeks, but she had been whispering all day, which was worse for her than talking.

"Pam, if you're going to talk, don't whisper," I said as I went into my room to work on a lesson.

Frosty came into the office and started insisting that Pam get off the phone, and forcing her to hang up. Of course Pam objected loudly and vocally. Barb came into the office and said angrily, "It'll be a shame if she has to go back into the hospital for talking all because of you!"

"So! I don't care!"

"No, you don't care about anyone but yourself! You get mad and you take it out on the world--there isn't anyone who treats you nicer than Pam!"

It was true. Pam had really been in Frostie's corner and he knew it. Pam used to live at 20th Street when Frostie first came, and she had taken an interest in him, and been really nice to him. He responded so much, that he made her a nice cabinet in shop class for Christmas.

But anyway, back to the present, Frostie went out in the hall and painted his name and Valley, the name of his old gang, in brown paint all over the freshly painted green wall. I went back in my room.

The next thing I heard was Bob's disgusted voice saying, "C'mon, Frosty! Leave Pam alone, man!"

Bob was a nineteen-year-old white guy who was staying with us, until he could get himself together. It was he who got us the TV interview, because his stepfather was a cameraman for Jack Kelso.

Anyway, Frostie answered in a loud, angry voice, "You get outa my face, white boy! I punch you in your jaw!"

Bob responded by raising his voice. "I said leave her alone, man!"

I knew Bob didn't know how to fight--at least not like kids around here--even though he was 6'6" tall, so I decided to get out there. The first thing I was was Frostie painting brown streaks down Pam's arm--and something snapped inside. I put myself smack in between Pam and him. Frostie grabbed me and shoved me across the room against the coffee table. I jumped right back and wedged myself on the sofa between Pam and him.

He said, "All right, you'll get it too!" and ran the paintbrush down my face and arm.

Bob had had all he could watch. He reached over and grabbed Frostie.

"Come on, Frostie, cut it out!"

Frostie wheeled around and said, "Get your hands off me or I'll punch your face!"

Gripping tighter and speaking louder, Bob replied, "Then leave the girls alone!"

Frosty pulled back and then shoved Bob across the desk. As he came back up, I said, pale, and between clenched teeth, "Bob, be cool."

Bob stopped and Frosty shouted, "You motherfucker!" and bounded out of the office.

I whispered violently, "Please don't push, man, he'll come after you with a knife--" and caught my words as Frostie shot back in. He ran the brush across my face and challenged Bob, "Now! You touch me. Come on and touch me!"

"Let Barb handle it, Bob."

After a tense moment, Frostie left abruptly. As Pam and I relaxed, Bob unleashed his rage.

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5…”

"Bob," I said, "As a man there are some things that are hard to take--but you have to take them."

"This is one of them," Pam joined in before she went into my room.

"How often does he get like that!"

"He hasn't been this way for a long time."

A11 of a sudden, Frostie walked in with a rag. He picked up my arm and started washing the paint off. Then he silently turned my head and carefully wiped my face. Caught between amusement at being washed like a child, and tears at his rare humility, I realized that I should let him finish. He scrubbed the back of my neck as I stared awkwardly at my lap, then he picked up my right hand and wiped it clean, and then my left.

Without a word, he disappeared into my room, where Pam was, shutting the door behind him. I started to half laugh, half cry.

"Are you all right?" Bob asked quietly.

I nodded my head and managed to get out, "That's beautiful."

When Frostie walked out of the room, I looked into his face for the first time that night, with respect in my eyes. Pam, paint all wiped off, was still sitting in my room, with her face covered with her hands. And Frostie and Barb started to wipe down walls.