It was really something, reading this and seeing how it applied to SO. MANY. INSTANCES I suffered for years as a civilian DoD employee. I can easily remember at least six supervisors who bullied me mercilessly during the last half of my 35-year employment. Four were active duty, two were civilians. In a few instances, I sought and got help through our union. What was truly striking was what you're so right about - that the organization couldn't care less about the horrific treatment of their employees and those "senior" officers and managers were allowed to continue their behavior. Funny thing... At least a few of the civilians were ultimately fired for other grievous actions. But they were never removed due to their outrageous behavior towards their "lessers." Thank you for writing this. Although it brought back years of ugly memories, it made me feel vindicated. And I am thankful I was finally able to retire, which was my only escape from the situations.
Thank you for a great essay. In my office, I did encounter some bullying from two people higher up in the organization. One was the HR Manager. Although he did not write my annual work appraisal, he was one of two who had to agree on it. He would add negative comments. Then I started to document his actions and his words, not only to me but to others. When I was presented with my work appraisal for signature, I informed my boss that I had some comments of my own to add before signing. I added two pages of the HR Manager’s behavior from that past year with dates and times. After that, he never again added any negative comments.
Being a baby boomer a few years later then the initial onslaught at the end of WW11 I found myself growing up in a neighborhood where almost every kid was my four year older brother's age. So I suffered considerable bullying both from these kids as well as my older brother. That is until around the age of 14 when I turned around, punched my older brother in the face, and knocked him on his ass. I had also learned to be a fairly proficient street fighter by then and most of my previous bullies were turning 18 or so and going to college, working, or in the military. But needless to say I grew up hating bullies! I'd go out of my way when I even saw someone else being bullied, approach, and calmy ask the bully, "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?".
So what did I do? I grew up and became a cop. What some have called,
A Professional Bully". But I only went about intimidating those who were violent bullies themselves. LOL! And I loved my job!
Here's how the bully in my neighborhood was de-fanged.
His name was John Rave. I can use his name, because my therapist says the Hodgkin's he was diagnosed with at age 10 has probably punched him out by now (age 61). We were classmates through grade, middle, and high school.
I was the "f**** re-tard" to him, and he provoked me into taking a swing at him in middle school. My fault, I let myself get provoked.
His response was to karate-kick me in the back from 17th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan to my home at 13th Street and 7th Avenue on a Friday afternoon. When I got home, my father was out there with the car, waiting to take us up to our weekend place. He saw what was going on, ran after John and his entourage and came back with one of the grinning followers. Dad lit into him.
On Monday, we went to our middle school. Amazingly, John was not there. What a surprise. He was never punished.
Meanwhile, he had formed a little band of boys of his age, who would attack "f***" in Greenwich Village. They all lived in and around Westbeth, the Bell Labs building turned into artists' housing. John and his merry men would stroll around the West Village and jump gay men. This was 1973, and most gay men at the time were close to the ugly stereotype...they wouldn't or couldn't fight back. They absorbed the pounding.
Then, one day, John's bunch jumped two gay men emerging from a gym. Both men were into leather and weightlifting. They were not going to take abuse from boys half their age. They sent John's group to St. Vincent's Hospital with "lacerations and abrasions."
John, observing his army's defeat, did not "retreat" (US Army) or "withdraw" (British Army). He ran like hell, only wounded, presumably, by the streams of urinary and fecal matter pouring into his trousers from fear. He left his army behind.
That was the end of his group. He spent much of the rest of his childhood sitting in his apartment, smoking marijuana in a darkened room, listening to something called "Quadrophenia."
When we met in high school, he tried to harass me again. This time I went straight to the assistant principal, who yanked John Rave out of gym. Still in t-shirt and shorts, John sat there and absorbed a lecture that ended with a threat of "police" and "Jail time." The scourge of f*** did not want to face prison predators. He muttered, "Lippman took a swing at me in middle school."
The AP was unimpressed. "Then forget it. The revenge ends here."
I added an apology for having taken the swing at him and for his medical condition. I did not mention that my brother had Crohn's and was not reacting to it by forming a posse of gay-bashers: he was just getting high grades.
John did not bother me again. Supposedly, he sent a pizza to my home. I never saw it. The night he sent it, we were out for dinner. I guess the doorman figured it was a practical joke. I didn't know about that for years. So I never thanked him, and he never brought up the subject. We just stared at each other in gym.
I don't know what happened to him, but my therapist assures me that the laws of probability say he is dead. So I use his name.
However, the lesson we learn from this -- which is one of the fundamental principles of Ingsoc -- is that bullies can and must be defeated. This guy took it in the teeth two ways: first, by coming against a physical force he could not defeat -- tougher people ready to punch back -- and powerful law forces, who were ready to toss him in jail.
As for me...to this day, when I walk by Westbeth, usually when I go to walk up or down the High Line, I still shiver in fear.
I guess I should also write about how I dealt with the bully who mistreated my daughter.
This is why you need a union.
It was really something, reading this and seeing how it applied to SO. MANY. INSTANCES I suffered for years as a civilian DoD employee. I can easily remember at least six supervisors who bullied me mercilessly during the last half of my 35-year employment. Four were active duty, two were civilians. In a few instances, I sought and got help through our union. What was truly striking was what you're so right about - that the organization couldn't care less about the horrific treatment of their employees and those "senior" officers and managers were allowed to continue their behavior. Funny thing... At least a few of the civilians were ultimately fired for other grievous actions. But they were never removed due to their outrageous behavior towards their "lessers." Thank you for writing this. Although it brought back years of ugly memories, it made me feel vindicated. And I am thankful I was finally able to retire, which was my only escape from the situations.
Thank you for a great essay. In my office, I did encounter some bullying from two people higher up in the organization. One was the HR Manager. Although he did not write my annual work appraisal, he was one of two who had to agree on it. He would add negative comments. Then I started to document his actions and his words, not only to me but to others. When I was presented with my work appraisal for signature, I informed my boss that I had some comments of my own to add before signing. I added two pages of the HR Manager’s behavior from that past year with dates and times. After that, he never again added any negative comments.
Being a baby boomer a few years later then the initial onslaught at the end of WW11 I found myself growing up in a neighborhood where almost every kid was my four year older brother's age. So I suffered considerable bullying both from these kids as well as my older brother. That is until around the age of 14 when I turned around, punched my older brother in the face, and knocked him on his ass. I had also learned to be a fairly proficient street fighter by then and most of my previous bullies were turning 18 or so and going to college, working, or in the military. But needless to say I grew up hating bullies! I'd go out of my way when I even saw someone else being bullied, approach, and calmy ask the bully, "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?".
So what did I do? I grew up and became a cop. What some have called,
A Professional Bully". But I only went about intimidating those who were violent bullies themselves. LOL! And I loved my job!
Extremely topical and today’s corporate world. I would say that staying factual and documenting everything is the best route to take. Well done kit.
Great, great, great, great, great essay.
Here's how the bully in my neighborhood was de-fanged.
His name was John Rave. I can use his name, because my therapist says the Hodgkin's he was diagnosed with at age 10 has probably punched him out by now (age 61). We were classmates through grade, middle, and high school.
I was the "f**** re-tard" to him, and he provoked me into taking a swing at him in middle school. My fault, I let myself get provoked.
His response was to karate-kick me in the back from 17th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan to my home at 13th Street and 7th Avenue on a Friday afternoon. When I got home, my father was out there with the car, waiting to take us up to our weekend place. He saw what was going on, ran after John and his entourage and came back with one of the grinning followers. Dad lit into him.
On Monday, we went to our middle school. Amazingly, John was not there. What a surprise. He was never punished.
Meanwhile, he had formed a little band of boys of his age, who would attack "f***" in Greenwich Village. They all lived in and around Westbeth, the Bell Labs building turned into artists' housing. John and his merry men would stroll around the West Village and jump gay men. This was 1973, and most gay men at the time were close to the ugly stereotype...they wouldn't or couldn't fight back. They absorbed the pounding.
Then, one day, John's bunch jumped two gay men emerging from a gym. Both men were into leather and weightlifting. They were not going to take abuse from boys half their age. They sent John's group to St. Vincent's Hospital with "lacerations and abrasions."
John, observing his army's defeat, did not "retreat" (US Army) or "withdraw" (British Army). He ran like hell, only wounded, presumably, by the streams of urinary and fecal matter pouring into his trousers from fear. He left his army behind.
That was the end of his group. He spent much of the rest of his childhood sitting in his apartment, smoking marijuana in a darkened room, listening to something called "Quadrophenia."
When we met in high school, he tried to harass me again. This time I went straight to the assistant principal, who yanked John Rave out of gym. Still in t-shirt and shorts, John sat there and absorbed a lecture that ended with a threat of "police" and "Jail time." The scourge of f*** did not want to face prison predators. He muttered, "Lippman took a swing at me in middle school."
The AP was unimpressed. "Then forget it. The revenge ends here."
I added an apology for having taken the swing at him and for his medical condition. I did not mention that my brother had Crohn's and was not reacting to it by forming a posse of gay-bashers: he was just getting high grades.
John did not bother me again. Supposedly, he sent a pizza to my home. I never saw it. The night he sent it, we were out for dinner. I guess the doorman figured it was a practical joke. I didn't know about that for years. So I never thanked him, and he never brought up the subject. We just stared at each other in gym.
I don't know what happened to him, but my therapist assures me that the laws of probability say he is dead. So I use his name.
However, the lesson we learn from this -- which is one of the fundamental principles of Ingsoc -- is that bullies can and must be defeated. This guy took it in the teeth two ways: first, by coming against a physical force he could not defeat -- tougher people ready to punch back -- and powerful law forces, who were ready to toss him in jail.
As for me...to this day, when I walk by Westbeth, usually when I go to walk up or down the High Line, I still shiver in fear.
I guess I should also write about how I dealt with the bully who mistreated my daughter.
This becomes my Monday essay.
Bullies, like jackals and hyenas, are at their bravest and most daring whilst in packs.
They also come with a little jackal who urges them on to do worse things. Like Scut Farkus's little human dog in "A Christmas Story."
Heh. Maybe it's "bully week." We might encourage all our fellow pixel strainers to write on the subject.