GANGLAND BLUES

September 10, 2025

by Rusty W. Mitchum

I was talkin’ to a man the other day, and he asked me what I thought about all the gang activity that was goin’ on now-a-days. Well, that got me to thinkin’ about back when I was growin’ up. You see, back when I was in elementary school, we had gangs roamin’ the school grounds. These gangs made the gangs now-a-days look like sissies. Oh, they were terrible. There were usually four or five to a gang and they could be seen everywhere. They wore their hair in ponytails, dressed similarly, and they all carried the same weapon. These gangs were called girls, and their weapon of choice was a club that they called a baton. The sound of this word still sends a shiver up my spine.

Oh, you laugh. Well, you wouldn’t have been laughin’ back then, especially if you were a boy. These gangs struck fear into the hearts of boys. Why, you ask? Well, it was because, not only did they wield these weapons of destruction, but they weren’t afraid to use ‘em.

A baton is a metal rod that has a small rubber ball attached to one end and a larger ball on the other. The small ball was to keep the gang member's hand from slippin’ off as she pummeled you with the large end.

These gangs called girls hung around together all the time. They were never alone. Heck, they wouldn’t even go to the bathroom by themselves (something they never out-grow). Their main goal in life, besides makin’ life miserable for boys, was to become what they considered the greatest thing a girl could become, a majorette.

These gangs were interestin’ to watch. Let’s say they were walkin’ on the playground. They’d walk along emittin’ strange sounds called “giggles,” when all of a sudden they’d stop. Then one of them would go into what they called a “routine.” This girl would start twirlin’ the baton. ‘Round and ‘round it’d go. Faster than an airplane propeller. Back and forth, up and down, and over her head. Then she’d kick up a leg and pass the baton under and into her other hand, never missin’ a lick. It was pretty amazin’. Then to finish, she’d bend down, then straighten up, and toss the baton high into the air. It’d spin skyward and then start down. She’d catch it and continue spinnin’ it, and then she’d stop the spinnin’ and let the baton slide to where she was holdin’ it by one end. Then she’d put it over her head and behind her like she was fixin’ to scratch her back with it, then jump up and kick her foot up behind her and touch it to the baton. All of the other gang members would oooo and aaaahhh, then they too would start spinnin’ their batons. You could hear the whirlin’ sound from a quarter of a mile away.

Now, I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ that they don’t sound that dangerous, but oh you are so wrong. Let me tell you what happened to me once.

I was walkin’ along with some friends on the playground, when we spotted one of those gangs headed our way. They were not payin’ any attention to us, which was normal. Anywho, they stopped and one of the gang members broke into a routine. We were watchin’ as she tossed the baton into the air, but when it came down, she missed it. When she bent down to pick it up, I laughed. Man, the whole playground went silent. Even the birds quit singin’. My buddies all looked at me with a horrified, almost apologetic look, as they slowly backed away. The girl had her hand on the baton just as I had laughed, and even though she was still bent over, she stopped, looked up, and shot me “the look.” Her formerly pretty face mutated into an ugly mask of rage. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pinched, and there was pure hatred bein’ shot at me, from not only her, but from every girl in the gang. I looked around, but I was alone. When I looked back, the girl had straightened up and was windin’ up for another toss, but this toss wouldn’t be goin’ straight up. Oh no, this one was comin’ for me. As she let go of the baton, I noticed there were two more batons also headed my way. It was sort of an eerie, slow motion scene that was takin’ place.

The first two batons were comin’ at me in a vertical manner, but the third was buzz-sawin’ at me horizontally, and lower. As I started to turn, to run, the first baton hit me, big end first, right between the eyes. A millisecond later, the second one punched into my stomach, followed by the third which hit me across my shins. I went down like a sack of mud.

When I finally came to, I was lookin’ at a pair of bobby socked legs which disappeared into a forest of petticoats. The legs were standin’ on either side of my chest. As I looked up, I could see a face peerin’ at me from the edge of the petticoats. I also saw a finger pointin’ down at me. It was the baton twirlin’ girl. Then she said those two words that strike fear into every boy. “I’m tellin’,” she said.

As I managed to pick myself up, I noticed that the gang was over talkin’ to a teacher and pointin’ at me. The girl had worked up some tears, and I don’t know what she was tellin’, but I had a feelin’ that life as I then knew it was fixin’ to be comin’ to an end. Then the teacher turned and looked at me. Yep, you guessed it. It was one of “those” looks. Then she pointed to me and motioned for me to come to her. Well, back in those days, it was illegal not to obey a teacher, so I slowly made my way over to her. I was draggin’ one leg and bent over like a hunchback. I felt like Igor, followin’ Dr. Frankenstein to the laboratory. I was sure one of my shins was broken, my stomach perforated, and my head caved in, but I finally made it over to the teacher. She looked down at me, shook her head, grabbed my ear, and dragged me off for more punishment. As she dragged me off, I looked back at the girl. There she was, her nose all squinched up, with her tongue stickin’ out at me.

Women.

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