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June 24, 1999 Newton's law at work  Tom Farrey, ESPN.com
Each day from Tuesday through Friday, ESPN.com examines the relationship between athletes and non-athletes, through the lens of one New Jersey high school where tension exists. Today: The outsider.
BERNARDSVILLE, N.J. -- Jodie Atterbury is no generic skinhead.
"I'm an American skinhead, which means I'm not racist," the 16-year-old junior at Bernards High School says. "I'm not political. I don't believe in any of the Nazi stuff. I believe in my country and I'm patriotic about that. It's just a state of being -- fashions, music you listen to."
Some of the athletes have another word for her: "Freak."
Or "scumbag."
Or "white trash."
The fact that Atterbury's family is well-off enough that she lives on an elegant, 18-acre horse farm in central New Jersey means nothing. Neither does the possibility that, as a champion equestrienne who hopes to someday compete in the Olympics, she may actually be the best athlete at her high school.
At Bernards and many other high schools across the nation, nothing counts as much as appearance in determining the unofficial social order. Do you look like us? Or do you look different? No one asks those questions with such force as male athletes, particularly football players, who historically have been the standard-bearers for traditional behavior and norms on the high school scene.
"It's difficult, because if they see you and don't know you, they'll prejudge and then gang up on you," Atterbury says.
The abuse at high schools is usually verbal, according to an ESPN Chilton nationwide survey of students. But often it does turn physical, in varying degrees of seriousness.
In the Bernards cafeteria, one of Atterbury's friends, Lisa Kaune, was bruised on the head when the team's all-state quarterback, Dave Melitski, threw an apple at her table. Another time, Melitski tore down a 10-foot-tall poster of an odd-dressing MTV disc jockey that some art students had painted as part of a school-sanctioned day in which students were encouraged to dress differently than usual. Several athletes, including the student council president, also threw eggs at a punk-rock concert that Atterbury's friends had organized at a local church hall.
Because of that last incident, the church no longer rents the hall out for shows, much to the dismay of Atterbury's friends.
"If they would just leave us alone, it wouldn't be a problem," says Allie Chas-Bowers, a senior and one of Atterbury's friends. "What is that physics law -- for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction? You know? I mean, I don't think those two kids at Columbine (were justified in) killing people because they were made fun of. But you can understand where they were coming from." Melitski describes relations between his group and Atterbury's group as a "rivalry," but really, it's not much of a competition. Atterbury's crew consists of no more than a handful of kids in a school of 500. Her group -- so small it doesn't have an informal name, like Columbine's so-called Trenchcoat Mafia -- exists on the fringe of the school culture, far from the psychic center occupied by the several dozen football players. Marginalized, Atterbury's group retaliates in ways that occasionally bother the athletes. Athletes say they're teased about being the stereotypical dumb jock. Atterbury said she once wore a shirt to school with the words "I HATE JOCKS" -- Melitski remembers it as "ALL JOCKS SHOULD DIE" -- written on the back (she considered it to be a funny stunt; Melitski didn't). Atterbury's group cobbles together a little 'zine called Creative Violence, which serves as an outlet for essays and ideas they figure would be censored if submitted to the Bernards student newspaper. Of the ominous title, Atterbury says, "In a way, this is like violence on paper. Like, we can't get in trouble for this, but in a way it's almost as good as a violent act." Those are words that, if judged alone, would likely scare any athlete or school administrator. But as with Atterbury herself, Creative Violence -- which is published in print and online -- requires a more thorough exploration to be understood. Get beyond the cover of the 16-page publication and find poems, benign essays on such topics as the definition of anarchy, an interview with a punk-rock band, even a recipe for Bean & Olive Soup. Atterbury has noticed that since the Columbine massacre, the athletes who harassed them are less likely to antagonize them. Instead, she'll notice a group of them pointing in her direction and laughing discreetly in the library. For that reason, she doesn't think the issues between athletes and her group have gone away. They've just gone underground, like her group's 'zine. "I think sports are basically a positive thing," Atterbury says, "because it makes you want to put yourself in better condition and it gives you, like, team spirit. But it can be taken negatively, as much as a bad clique can be taken negatively. Some of the coaches maybe promote a feeling that you're better (than other students) because you play football or you're the captain of some sport." The shame, in her mind, is that it doesn't have to be this way. While she suspects cliques are inevitable in high school, as in human nature, fear and humiliation do not have to be necessary byproducts. At times, she sees hope. "I have class with a lot of the (athletes) and they'll be nice to your face there," Atterbury says. "They'll carry on normal-like discussions. But as soon as they get with their kids, it's like they're boys again. It's like they're out on the football field again." Out on the field, where violence is both creative and sanctioned. Thursday: A longtime coach considers his role in working with his players to avert Columbine-like tensions at his school. |
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Bernards football player Rick LaPointe insists that some athletes are hated.
Allie Chas-Bowers says athletes consider her to be a freak.
