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Two posts ago I posted a description of Donald Trump as a forty-year-old raping a 13-year-old-girl “Katie.” Here is is with some commentary on YouTube:
Should I apologize for suggesting Donald Trump might have raped a thirteen year old girl? Not hardly. Donald Trump made sure five innocent boys were convicted of rape and sent to prison in New York. Ten years later the real rapist was discovered and Trump’s innocents were released from prison. Trump has never apologized. I wrote about it here: A good lynching At least I admit I don’t know the truth about him.

My friend a 14-year-old cherry popper.
I am only now committing this story to print 58 years later. I’ve always known I would write about it but it involved a close friend who I did not want to out during his lifetime or the other people it involved. But there is something about the blind faith Trump’s legions bestow on our President that calls for merciless candor. I will change names and hope that no one attempts to recover the real one.
Tommy was my only pal through Junior high in Minnesota. I’d started my 7-9 junior high that fall as a complete stranger with a funny southern accent. As I was walking the two blocks to my home after school a voice called after me. It was Tommy. He lived a block further away. For the purposes of this story, I will skip the three years of constant companionship noting only that I was a prude and content to stay that way and Tommy was curious to try things I had no interest in.
A few months before our companionship came to an end Tommy enlisted me to get some payback on a kid a year behind us in class who had bullied his beloved little brother. I’ll call the kid Jeff. Tommy wanted to throw a scare into Jeff and I agreed to grab Jeff from behind and hold his arms while Tommy pretended to throw a punch at him. As we say now, “What could go wrong?”
We caught up with Jeff on North Mankato’s main street and I dutifully grabbed Jeff’s arms behind his back. Tommy stepped up to throw his pretend punch when Jeff, in a panic, broke free from my indifferent hold. Panic always trumps reticence. Faced with two free arms Tommy punched Jeff in the face. There was nothing noble about this embarrassment. Later that day as I headed home, I saw a policeman standing on our front stoop talking to my parents. My stomach sank. I admitted my pathetic role in the fiasco and they were unanimous. I was to be grounded for a week, or was it two?
When Tommy heard of my punishment he was appalled. His parents had defended him for looking out for his little brother. I couldn’t fault my parents. I got what I deserved.
At the end of the school year my parents bought a bigger house across the Minnesota River in Mankato the larger of the two “Key Cities.” Before we moved Tommy and I took our last walk together through North Mankato. Tommy had something he was keen to tell me.
It turned out to be one of the most appalling things I heard in those tender years. I don’t think I let my disgust show as Tommy eagerly related his first sexual conquest but I doubt that my poker face gave Tommy any sense of satisfaction. If he had any doubts the fact I had little to do with him in the three years of high school that followed might have sent a message.
Tommy had given our former target, Jeff, twenty bucks to procure his 12-year-old sister for Tommy’s initiation into manhood. Tommy walked into her bedroom where she lay naked looking up at the ceiling. She stayed focused on the ceiling as he accomplished what he had set out to do. He told me that when he was finished, he said “thank you.” She did not reply.
I would have virtually nothing to do with Tommy until my final year of college when he was selling small quantities of “white cross” a potent and illegal amphetamine to students who wanted to say up all night to study for their finals. I used it for a month to stay up all night so I could listen to classical records I borrowed from the Mankato Public Library.
Unlike the reported disdain showered on Katie by the 40-year-old Donald Trump, Tommy at least said thank you.
