excerpts from the unauthorized, unpublished and almost entirely fictional biography of Fatuis Fortuna.

Well, it’s being a quiet day in paradise and I’m feeling like a change of pace anyway.

For your consideration here are some excerpts from the unauthorized, unpublished and almost entirely fictional biography of Fatuis Fortuna.

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My parents had died the summer before I turned five. They were killed by a drunk driver coming home from a party; while I was at home with a sitter. We had been living out in the countryside, very rural. We had a ten acre farm with cows, goats, chickens, and dogs.

I had stayed with my mother’s sister and her family but it was too crowded in their trailer. I remember sleeping on the floor on a pallet made from sofa cushions. That had lasted about a month until my Uncle George showed up one day and took me to stay with him.

With out even discussing the meaning and origins of my name, it has not always been easy having been born Fatuis Fortuna. The fact that very few people don’t stumble over my name hasn’t changed much. It’s a little different when you’re a kid who is a bit more compact than the others so subject to the usual unwanted attention from playground bully types. I got plenty of that, but I had learned to mostly ignore it. In my early years, I was pretty successful in avoiding trouble. It was a different kind of name calling that launched my first fight.


Circa 1973


Mark Bucholz grinned the evil grin he always had for anyone he thought he could bully or make fun of. When ever he saw me he would say loudly, “Well lookie here at little Fat-as-you-is Fork-and-tuna, how’s it going Fat-as-you-is?”

On the day of the fight I was walking across the school yard with Olivia Harley. Actually I was walking a few paces behind her. I had a huge crush on her but when and where I went through the fourth grade, just accidentally touching someone you liked in the hall still seemed like a secret thrill. Well, perhaps that was just me, I was shy around girls, they seemed so strange, wonderful and terribly confusing.

Olivia had skin the color of coffee and cream. Her hair was in what people might have called back then an Angela Davis ‘fro. She made my stomach do flip flops, my throat tightened up. My heart felt like it was going to come out of my chest and my knees got weak whenever I saw her.

As close as we were to Grand Rapids we were in one of the most non homogenized parts of the county. In those years, mostly Dutch people with names like Van Overan, De Jonge or Van Laar lived in the area. There was maybe a small scattering of Hispanics and Blacks but overall bland dutch vanilla. Certainly I had seen people with brown skin before but I really didn’t think in terms of ethnicity. To me, Olivia was simply the most beautiful girl I could imagine.

Anyway, I was at a wonderful delusional age, I had been reading Morte d’Arthur and my love for Olivia was as noble and courtly as any 8 year old who reads that much can be. Even though I was far too shy to tell her that I loved her, I had appointed myself her secret protector. It was relatively early in the school year; there had been no opportunity to prove myself.

Looking back it’s interesting to me how few steps can make the difference between a boy imaging himself a knight on the playground to becoming a cop or a disturbed stalker.

Bucholz was in his usual spot near the monkey bars, standing there with Scotty Arenson. Bucholz was a chubby kid, two years older than me. We were in the same class because my mother had started me in school a year early and Bucholz had failed the year before.

Arenson, Bucholz’s sidekick was a skinny kid who always seemed to smell like chili. No one knew why. He had a high pitched squeal of a laugh which he produced whenever Bucholz said almost anything. Having Arenson rooting for you would not be what my Uncle George would call a ringing endorsement.

Unfortunately the path Olivia had chosen went directly past Bucholz and Arenson. They let her pass but Bucholz stepped forward in front of me. “Well lookie here, its Fat-as-you-is Fork-and tuna. What ya doing Fat-as-you-is?”

As I tried to step around him, Bucholz grabbed my Detroit Tigers ball cap off my head and threw it to Arenson. I turned toward Arenson, holding out my hand for the hat. Arenson quickly threw the cap back to Bucholz. Wonderful, any chance of impressing Olivia was quickly evaporating right in front of me.

Now Bucholz had started his sing-song of “Fat-as-you-is” echoed by Arenson. Just then I heard a voice that both excited me as well as crushed me with embarrassment. Olivia had turned around and had come back and was standing beside Bucholz as I turned back from Arenson.

“Don’t be such a jerk Mark, give Fatuis back his hat.” She actually said my name, and she said it right! But what kind of knight has to be rescued by the Lady he is sworn to defend?

Bucholz’s grin got even wider as he looked from Olivia to me. “Well lookie here Scotty, Fat-as-you-is has got the nig-girl to do his fighting for him.”

I saw Olivia’s whole face change. What had been annoyance had switched to something I was pretty sure was a few degrees past anger. “What did you call me?”

Bucholz laughed. “You heard me nig-her. My daddy says that you shouldn’t even be here, whyant you go pick some cotton?”

I felt the blood draining from my face and the muscles in my body tighten. A gauntlet had been thrown not at the ground in front of me, but right into the face of my beloved.

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My uncle George owned a few houses that he rented out. Another of his pearls of wisdom was that a job should be an interruption of life never should life be an interruption of work. His addition to this rule was that whenever possible, be employed only at work you enjoyed. George would regal me with stories of his time oversea in the Navy all the different jobs he had had. He hadn’t worked for anyone else since I came to live with him. He just took care of me and had the houses that he rented and his lady friends.

It was summer; no school! We were down town having looked at a few more houses George was considering buying, fixing up and renting out. We had stopped at a convenience store to pick up a ginger ale for me and a beer for George. We had homemade sandwiches and a big bag of J’s potato chips in the truck for lunch.

We were standing in line behind a lady with dark almond skin. She was dressed nicely, wearing a long tan dress and her hair was braided and up in a tight bun. She wore glasses with a chain around her neck. She had a large purse which she had set on the counter and she held a wallet in her left hand.

She was speaking in a calm clear voice to the clerk. “I think you made a mistake, the price on the pump says fifty two cents, and I put in ten gallons, that is five dollars and twenty cents and you just rang up six dollars and twenty cents.”

The guy behind the counter was sloppy fat and had a beard and mustache; he was wearing a Michigan State jersey. “Service charge”, he said sourly.

“I pumped the gas myself, there was no service”, the woman’s voice was calm.

“Look just pay and if you don’t like it go back to Dee-troit, they’re trying to get one of your kind as mayor running things for your kind.”

Before the woman could respond, George stepped up to the counter, His left foot ahead and his torso turned slightly to the right. “And just what kind would that be mister?”

I had never seen my uncle get angry. He had a calm way about him. The way I knew I was in trouble was when he seemed even calmer except that his face blanched white.

As I watched the scene unfold, I saw the tell tale sign and realized I had taken a step back.

The clerk’s face started to scrunch up but before he could speak the woman spoke quickly “Please let me handle this. I don’t want any trouble. I’ll just pay it. May I please have a receipt?” She had turned towards George, her face tight but under control. She carefully put a five a one and two dimes on the counter.

George didn’t move or say a word; he just stood there looking at the clerk.

“There you go”, sneered the clerk, tossing a piece of paper he had scribbled something on and tossed it across the counter “Nice to see a young nig-her that has some manners.”

As soon as the clerk had spoken there was a blur and a smacking noise as George seemed to surge forward and back. I heard a loud grunt come from the clerk as I watched him stagger back and crumble to the floor. George leaned over the counter and looked at the clerk who could be heard wheezing and sputtering.

“You seem to be lacking some manners. I’m leaving you three bucks for the beer and kid’s soda. So if you decide to call the cops, you be sure to tell them that I paid you after you slipped and fell. I won’t charge you for the lesson”

The blood was returning to George’s face when he turned and the lady stood right up to him her face no longer calm. She was angry. “What did you do that for?”

George smiled at her, “He was robbing you and he called you a name I didn’t like, it seemed like an appropriate response.”

“Who the hell asked you to? I had it under control. I’m taking the receipt to a lawyer and handle it legally. Violence never solves anything. This wasn’t any of your business.” her voice was significantly louder than it had been with the clerk.

“A very sharp guy from Italy once said that He, who does not punish evil, commands it to be done.” George replied as he placed three dollars on the counter before bowing his head slightly to the lady and walking out the door.

I stood there with the ginger ale growing warmer in my hands. I looked at the woman, she looked at me. I had been momentarily stunned by what had just happened until I heard George’s truck turn over. I ran out and scrambled into the truck. George put the old Ford into gear and we rolled out of the lot.

We were rolling down the road headed for John Ball Park when George spoke “Do you understand what happened back there Fatuis?”

“Well, the man asked her to pay more than she said she pumped. She was going to pay it. Then you hit him so fast!” I said the last part coming out in a rush.

George was looking ahead at the road as he spoke. “Did you hear what he called that woman?”

“He called her a nig-her.”

George nodded. “That’s a word that ignorant people use. People use words as labels. People use labels as a way of putting distance between themselves and the bad things they do. Remember this Fatuis, most people don’t like change and they don’t like to think for themselves. Most people like to be told what is right and wrong, what to do or not to do. Things that are different scare people. They use words in order to justify their fear or hatred and abuse of some one different. I don’t know exactly how people started using that word. I seem to remember the word negro in Spanish and negre in French means black. Not that that really makes much sense anyway. I’ve seen people with some of the darkest brown skin from places in South America to parts of Asia and the Middle East as well as Africa. To call them black instead of brown makes as much sense as calling you or me white, we’re closer to beige than anything.”

“I heard Aunt Sherry call some people coloreds once.” I said.

Uncle George snorted, “She’s my sister and I love her, but your Aunt Sherry hasn’t been anywhere but here her whole life and while she doesn’t mean any harm by it, she isn’t too smart. Colored is another word that some people have used to replace the word nigger with.”

He shook his head in disgust, “Always treat people the same until they give you reason to treat them otherwise. I don’t care if a person is beige, brown, tittie pink or pecker red, you treat people how you expect to be treated. That guy back at the gas station is a bigot. Bigots are people who for no damn good reason hate people who are different. Anybody can be a bigot. You can count on them to be bullies and cowards. As you get older, you’ll hear people call each other all kinds of names; nigger, spic, chink, gook, mostly it’s by people who call themselves white, against people whose skin is darker or they look different in some other way. It usually comes from having shit for parents and no one taking the time to teach them how to act right.”

“Why did that lady get mad at you if you were defending her honor?” I asked seriously.

George flashed a quick grin. “Still reading about Arthur and Galahad are you? Things are changing a lot in the last few years. The kids of people who used to feel like they had to accept being treated less than human have been fighting back. It’s a good thing, but it will take time for things to balance out. You’ve heard when we watch the news about the trouble because of kids being bussed all over the place and the riots that happen in some of the bigger cities. A lot of that has to do with the fact that those people have always been treated like property, never as people all because of the color of their skin.”


“But that’s not fair.” I said.

“That’s right Fatuis, never has been never will be.”

“But why did she get mad at you. You were on her side.”

“Well, not everybody reacts the same way. She’s probably spent more time reading books than I have. Maybe as much as you do” He said as he poked me in the ribs. “In a perfect world, she would be right that violence never solves anything. This isn’t a perfect world we live in. There are times when violence may be the best option you can choose. The guy in the gas station thought that because we looked more like him than she did, we would let him get away with treating her anyway he wanted to. He knows better now, so maybe he won’t be as quick to try it again. Of course there are also times when you have to bite your tongue or pull your punches and wait. The trick is in figuring out which is which.”

“How do you do that?”

“Experience mostly and it’s useful to know that from time to time you will figure it wrong.”

“What happens then?”

“You just keep on rolling with the punches. Back a little before the time you were born there were two guys that scared a lot of people. They were both religious men. Though a lot of people down south would have said they came from the devil. One preached about non-violent protest against things that were wrong. One preached about standing up to what was wrong by any means necessary. What each of them said scared enough people that it got them both murdered. I guess that lady whose honor you say I defended is just rolling with the punches in her own way.”

George got quiet for a minute then said. “I heard what both of those men said back then. It seemed to me they both just wanted what anybody with any sense wants in this world”

“What’s that Uncle George?”

He turned to me as he spoke, “To live and let live and for everyone to leave everyone else the hell alone.”

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I saw movement on my right so I think I just narrowly beat Olivia to the punch as I plowed into Bucholz and sent us rolling onto the ground. Somehow I managed to be still on top. I remembered what George always said about taking every advantage and pressing it as far as you could because advantages never lasted long. As Bucholz had been turned toward Olivia, I had hit him on his left side and when we went down he had landed on his stomach. I scrambled on top of his back and grabbed the back of his hair with my left hand. Bucholz struggled to throw me off and I slammed his face down into the hard playground dirt.

“Get off me you freak! I’m gonna kick your ass!” Bucholz screamed at me.

I slammed his face down again. “Apologize to the lady and I’ll let you go.”

Bucholz was coughing and making unidentifiable noises. By this time a crowd had circled us and everyone was asking what had started it. I could feel Olivia watching, looking at me. “Apologize for disrespecting Olivia and I’ll let you up.”

Just then I felt hands on the back of my neck and I was forcefully pulled off of Bucholz. “All right, break it up. Fortuna, Bucholz, what’s going on here?” It was Mr. Kieve one of the sixth grade teachers. He was huge and everyone was at least a little bit scared of him.

Bucholz had scrambled up and was holding his face in his hands. “I think he broke my nose, that kid’s a freak he just knocked me down for no reason and was on top of me. I dint do anything”

“Let me look at you.” Kieve said.

Bucholz uncovered his face. It was pretty dirty and I was pleased to see a little blood running down from his nose. I saw my ball cap on the ground. Arenson must have dropped it when Kieve showed up. I walked over and picked it up.

Kieve reached out and touched Bucholz’s nose with both of his hands. He squeezed Bucholz’s nose to which Bucholz yelped. “You’re nose isn’t broken. Now what is this all about? What about it Fortuna, you hurt?” Kieve asked me.

“I’m okay Mr. Kieve.”

Mr. Kieve looked me over, “Did you start this Fortuna?”

I just stood there, not sure what to say. I couldn’t just tell Mr. Kieve that I was protecting Olivia’s honor, I knew no one at school would understand.
Maybe this was what George meant about rolling with the punches.

Bucholz started up again, “That’s right Mr. Kieve. The kid just hit me from behind for no reason. He’s crazy. My dad says he’s from a crazy family. I dint do anything. Ask Scotty.” He said pointing over at Arenson who had been trying to distance himself.

Kieve watched me for a minute.

By this time, Mrs. Mekkase, one of the fifth grade teachers had come out and was telling the other kids to clear out.

“Hold up Mary, Please take Bucholz and Fortuna down to the office and tell Jack I’ll be down straight away.”

I saw Mrs. Mekkase make a strange face and roll her eyes, “Yes Mr. Kieve, I’ll take the boys down to Mr. Schuckers office.” She carefully emphasized the misters when she spoke.

“I think my nose is broken, it’s bleeding.” Bucholz whined.

Mr. Kieve turned toward him and sighed deeply. “Alright, Mrs. Mekkase, take Bucholz to the nurse and tell her that he is to stay there until I collect him.”

Appearing relieved that Mr. Kieve had properly addressed her, Mrs. Mekkase asked, “What about the Fortuna boy?”

Before he spoke, Mr. Kieve looked at me again. “I’ll keep him with me while I find out what started this.”

Mrs. Mekkase looked at me disapprovingly and turned to Bucholz and pointed to the school door. As they walked off I could hear Bucholz asking Mrs. Mekkase how much trouble I was going to get for attacking him.

“Al right Fortuna, you sit over there on those steps and stay there.” He pointed over to the other door into the school. I walked over sat down as Mr. Kieve walked around talking to other kids.

I watched as Olivia walked up to him and they stepped aside from the other kids and talked. As they talked I saw Mr. Kieve look over at me then back down towards Olivia. The recess bell had already rung and the playground was deserted except for the three of us. After a few minutes they started walking towards me.

Olivia was smiling at me but didn’t stop as she walked up the steps and into the school. Mr. Kieve stopped and sat down beside me on the steps.

“All right Fatuis, Olivia told me that Bucholz and Arenson were playing keep away with your ball cap but that it wasn’t until Bucholz called her a name that you tackled him. Is that true?”

“Yes Mr. Kieve.”

“You understand that fighting, for any reason is against the rules at school don’t you? It’s likely you will be suspended for a few days. Let’s go call your uncle and see how this goes.”


To be continued