Boarding School Bastard 2: The Elementary School Years: Boarding School Bastard, #2

By Alan Sharavsky

Nine-year-old Alan Sharavsky had just gotten the bad news: After summer break, he'd be returning to the orphanage (the prison, if you asked him). And this time, he'd be living there for the remaining three years of elementary school at lease. But first, Mom was sending him against his wishes to a summer camp for "disadvantaged boys." Was this a vacation, or just more male discipline, now moved into the woods?

When he returns to school in September, how will he avoid beatings from the hulking Director of Discipline, Mr. Watson? Or elude pedophile housemaster, Mr. Roberts? Will he escape the bloody Gravitano Grip, his new governess' preferred punishment? And how will he cope with the anti-Semitism that is about to turn physical?

On the plus side, Alan's iconoclastic, precocious friend, Jack Raboy, is returning, as is fellow Jewish student and foxhole buddy, Larry Gold. But a new friend will vanish without a trace, however, after experiencing a violent punishment. And Alan and Jack will have a run-in with the high school principal, foreshadowing a future battle of wills between his next nemesis, principal Cashman Gruder. Boarding School Bastard 2 is the second ebook in Alan Sharavsky's memoir series about an abusive but fascinating childhood at Girard College, an orphanage for fatherless boys.

 

LITERARY PRAISE FOR BOARDING SCHOOL BASTARD

 

"Sharavsky has dug deep for this gripping and emotional memoir, exposing a childhood sure to leave as big a mark on the reader as it did on the writer. Unforgettable."-- Jon Clinch, Author of Finn, Marley and Kings of the Earth

"Alan Sharavsky's Boarding School Bastard is a 'Me Too' manifesto from a male perspective. Writing in crisp prose, laced with humor, Sharavsky immerses a reader in the travails of childhood and adolescence. But his is not an ordinary coming of age story." -- Annette Libeskind Berkovits, Author of In the Unlikeliest of Places & Confessions of an Accidental Zoo Curator

"While aspects are reminiscent of Oliver Twist, especially the deliberate cruelties inflicted by many of the adults on those in their care, Sharavsky's story is also a testament to the resilience of children who travel through painful events. Touching, and at times, humorous, this memoir will linger long in the reader's mind." -- Nancy Christie, Author of Traveling Left of Center and Other Stories and The Gifts of Change

"I was rooting for the pint-sized protagonist from the first page, gripped and fearing for him by the 10th. This modern-day Oliver struggles to find his way in a well-intentioned but troubled institution, founded at a time when 'orphan' equaled 'fatherless,' ."-- Valerie, M. Jones, CEO, Speaker and Author of Non-Profit Hero

"Sharavsky's experiences, as depicted in this moving book, provide an important lens into the loneliness and fear felt by children who feel vulnerable and unprotected. Boarding School Bastard eloquently portrays the trauma experienced by victims and witnesses to child abuse."-- Debra Schilling Wolfe, MEd, Executive Director, University of Pennsylvania Center for Children's Policy

"Sharavsky pulls off the remarkable feat of drawing us into a page-turner while sharing the true story of his abused yet fascinating childhood. This powerful book provides necessary insights for people who have not experienced child abuse, abandonment, and anti-Semitism, while bearing witness for those who have."--Liz Dow, CEO, Leadership Philadelphia

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Sharavsky
• Release date: Apr 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223297925

Alan Sharavsky

About the Author Alan Sharavsky is a writer, editor, marketing executive, and musician. In addition to "Boarding School Bastard," he co-authored the best-selling business book series “HeadTrash.” He’s also edited numerous books, including the software developer's bible, “SAFe Distilled.” In addition, Alan has written and produced shows and articles for Nickelodeon, Discovery Channel, The Philadelphia Inquirer, NPR affiliate WHYY, and AdWeek. In his advertising and marketing career, Alan has generated buzz and business for many of America’s most best-known brands: Tylenol, McDonald's, DuPont, Splenda, Johnson & Johnson, and Bosch Power Tools. He has won numerous creative awards. Before forming his company, Alan was Marketing Director for the Philadelphia 76ers, working with NBA legends ranging from Wilt Chamberlain to Dr. J. to Charles Barkley. In his spare time, Alan is the lead singer and harmonica player of nine-piece R ‘n B dance band, The Bassboards, which performs at concerts, private parties, weddings and juke joints from Philadelphia to New York. 

Book preview

With Gratitude

TO BARBARA

Your faith in me raises my game

TO MAXINE & ANDI

The two best assignments I'll ever be a part of

TO MEGAN FARRELL

Editor and wise advocate

TO THE READERS OF BOARDING SCHOOL BASTARD 1

Your encouragement fueled this sequel

TO MY MOTHER

Who did what she thought was best for me

Nowhere Boy

There was a witness . Someone had seen her talking to an enemy agent inside the regime’s walled compound. According to the account, the co-conspirators appeared familiar, even friendly, suggesting prior contact. The woman nodded to the agent, acknowledging that she would comply with the orders. She would return the child to the prison after a three-month stay. Then they embraced.

No, there was no way to deny the evidence now. After all, I was the witness who watched my mother hug Mrs. Gravitano and agree to take me back to Girard for another year.

And although I was now home for summer vacation, back in my neighborhood where I wanted to be—where I thought I belonged—I saw things differently. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mom and I were no longer on the same team, and that this house was something other than my home. My fate decided, I knew I would be going back to Girard College in September. Now, whether I was behind Girard’s walls or on a stoop in my neighborhood, I felt like a resident alien, walking around familiar locations without citizenship.

In two days, that no-man’s land sensation would become a reality again. 

Summer

The bus driver’s uniform was pea-soup green, its cheeriest feature a Philadelphia Transit Company insignia. The emblem stood out because the energetic Mercury-God-of-Travel wings contradicted his outfit’s gloomy tone. The plucky logo patch on the driver’s shoulder drew my eye up to his cap, a replica of the one the guard wore the day that I arrived at Girard.

Mom is sending me away again.  That was the tape loop echoing in my brain as we rode north, stopping on every corner of Broad Street, the four-lane road that bisected the length of Philadelphia. At the last stop, another bus would carry me even farther from her. This time I was going away to a summer camp for three weeks, an arrangement that I had to translate in sign language during a meeting at Jewish Family Services. I didn’t understand all the details, but even an eight-year-old boy can figure out the meaning of a camp for children from disadvantaged circumstances.

Deaf and widowed mother, and now full-time resident of a boarding school for fatherless boys, I fit the hard-luck checklist the lady with the glasses dangling from her neck was filling out. 

The first leg of the trip had taken us to the parking lot of a suburban mall, a location so far from our row home that I already felt unmoored. The yellow camp bus coming into view would carry me to another foreign land, one Mom described as the woods. As we walked, I could hear the camp bus idling in the distance. A little closer and I could see it was already full of children. Other than a few straggler parents waving goodbye from their cars, and a woman barking out instructions about her son’s medications, the parking lot was empty. 

Finally! a nervous college-aged boy blurted out. You must be Alan. We’ve been waiting for you. Hop on! He grabbed the duffle bag I begged Mom to buy to replace the A.S.S. (Alan Steven Sharavsky) Girard suitcase and tossed it into an open truck filled with other camp luggage. His pleasant anguish and the full bus told the story: We were very late.

Curious to see who was holding them up, children were hanging out the window, watching as Mom hugged me and said goodbye. Be good, and have fun, she signed. Then she squeezed me hard. I responded with a limp hug-no-hug, and skulked up the steps of the bus, whose occupants had gone mute watching the sign-language show. I found an empty seat and sat down.

Your mom is deaf? The teenager sitting next to me pierced my ruminations.

Yeah, I answered, sinking into my seat, looking out the window at Mom walking back to the bus stop.

Neat. Would you show me how to do sign language at camp?

Sure! I said, not knowing whether to smile or cry.

Good Morning, SGF! A tall skinny man with a thick black beard stood at the front of the bus, smirking as if he was keeping a happy secret, announcing the initials of Samuel G. Freeman, the founder of the camp. I couldn’t tell if he was a college student or someone’s father. His sanguine expression and bone-thin frame, combined with the beard and mop of black curls, made him look like a hippie Abraham Lincoln. The roar that came back to him suggested he might be the president of the camp.

"Good morning, Uncle Soz!!!! Soz! Soz! Soz!" People were stamping their feet and clapping, elated at the sight of the man and the sound of Soz bouncing off the walls of the bus.

I was terrified. We’d pay for this as soon as we got to camp. The bearded man was going to lose his temper and take away our dinner. But if anything, the chant grew stronger, louder. And he just kept smiling. Soz! Soz! Soz! Soz! Soz! Soz! A joy riot had broken out, and no one was going to stop it.

What’s a Soz? I shouted at the boy next to me.

That’s his nickname, short for Sozloffsky. Uncle Soz is a legend. He’s amazing, he shouted back.

A bemused Buddha, the man named Soz allowed the crowd to express their affection. After a few more whoops, he raised his hands. The bus fell silent. Okay, welcome! And greetings to our new campers. This is going to be the best summer of your life. Before we take off, let’s do a quick roll call. When you hear your name, please stand up and shout ‘present.’ Arinoff!

As counselors scribbled on clipboards, boys of all ages, sizes and shapes stood up one by one by one to answer. A few were wearing yellow and black SGF tee shirts. After all the counselors confirmed that everyone was present and accounted for, the driver threw the bus into gear and we began the trip to SGF Vacation Camp in Collegeville, Pennsylvania,