I moved back to the place of my birth, Stillwater OK, in 1990. I was thirteen years old. Back in Texas, I was drinking, smoking weed, regularly skipping class, getting sent to adult re-education, and had the hair of a British rockstar. I came from a bad family with more problems than British Petroleum (emotional/physical abuse, neglect, poverty, blah blah blah). I was anti-social, didn’t speak, didn’t eat at cafeteria time, and very much wanted to disappear from the face of the earth rather than have to deal with any more teasing or bullying.

Four years later, I ran for Student Council President of Stillwater High School.

Sweet Home Oklahoma

Coming back to Stillwater was a bit of culture shock for me. It was a small, quiet university town with 250 churches and Shriners driving each year in the Homecoming parade in the mini-cars. Apple pie Americana. I’d just come from Abilene, TX under the sole guardianship of my mother. It was sorta like the Wild West meets Animal Kingdom. To say that we were under-supervised would be a massive understatement.

It was more akin to apathy.

At least in Abilene, I went to the poor school in the district and had fought enough so that the Latino gangs afforded me some respect, if not camaraderie. Here though it was lily white. Or at least it pretended to be.

I was miserable from day one. People snickered at me. They recoiled when I tried to talk to them – even old childhood friends from Westwood Elementary. Some people thought it would be cool to try to convince me to try out for football or make fun of my snazzy Walmart sneakers. Shit happens.

At least I had my brother and my dog, Wulf.

My brother turned 18 that year and soon found a job at Taco Mayo. He moved out immediately. I don’t blame him. But it left me with only Wulf to lessen the loneliness. And he sucked at video games.

Conformity & Its Many Blessings

So after a year of dealing with it, 9th grade started. And I decided to cut my hair. I was tired of being that kid. The same kid that Mrs. Beckie Rogers (my extended studies teacher) dogged out to other students behind my back – saying I was a bum, my family were bums, and I’d never amount to anything. She just so happened to say that to one of the girls that my oldest sister coached in softball, so I found out all about it. I hope that if people Google her, they read about this and see what type of an educator she really is.

But, losers that we be, no one in my family drove over to the Junior High to tell this witch off.

There were kids that were nice for sure – my pre-school buddy JA and some of the other kids in the advanced learning classes (and surprisingly Jay Berry! Go figure) – but I had enough of Brion Driskel slapping me in the forehead each day before Algebra.

I decided to I wanted to be … liked.

How pathetic does that sound? Yes, I cut my hair and started talking non-stop. I was going to be funny if not handsome. I was going to be smart if not athletic. I think over the years (freshman, sophomore, and junior) I was greeted with as much laughter as I was eye rolling by my peers.

As a quick aside: During this time, I developed a nasty habit. I became a dick. I was so eager to make people laugh (and not at me) that I started picking on others that weren’t as loud or desperate as me. In my lame defense, I’ve tried to apologize to these people as I’ve encountered them later.

First Foray in Politics

Fast forward to the end of my sophomore year. The sign-ups for Student Council representatives were out in the main office. I must have walked by the list 20 times before I had the courage to see who signed-up. I waited until very last possible moment to place my name on the list, so I could see all the other people I was competing with for the limited rep spots for the class of ’95. Could I beat out that person … or that person … ?

With my heart literally beating wildly and a little shake in my hand, I signed-up. Immediately, I regretted it and thought of a way to erase my entry. With no further recourse, I called Chrispy with desperation. I have to give a fucking speech!It’s got to be funny … or I doomed.

I have to give a thousand thanks that the StuCo officers ran first and I got to see the speech of one of the candidates. I’m pretty sure it was Mandy’s speech. This was the premise of her speech, holding said object: “Student council is like an onion. It has several layers and sometimes … it can make you cry.”

Inspiration.

My campaign manager (Chrispy) and I worried in quiet deliberations in his room on Ridge Street about the master plan. Would it anger her too much? Would I get in trouble? Would people laugh? Regardless, I had to do it. It was a gift from blue-eyed baby Jesus from on high.

The day came and I’m sitting there nervously on the stage with 300 classmates watching the same, repetitive speech: “Hi, my name is blankedy blank and if case you don’t know I’m running for Student Council representative. I will create great communication between the teachers and the students. Please vote for me. Go Pioneers!”

I was near the last speech and I knew that the audience was bored to tears. I walked up with a brown, paper back and quietly pulled out my only prop and slipped it into the drawer in the lectern. I went through my speech with a few canned jokes here and there and got a couple of chuckles. Then the dynamite …

“In conclusion,” I said as I pulled out my onion, “Student Council is like an … onion? Whatever.”

The place erupted. It was like a wall of sound hit me on stage of people laughing. It was a great feeling. I had them. And in a few days, I was elected as a representative. That meant I got to spend lunches eating Shuttle pizza in a classroom, talking with more hot girls than in my combined 3 years in the Stillwater school system combined.

Victory.

The Big Tamale

But that wasn’t enough. After a year, I gathered my courage again for an even grander goal. Student Council President. This was no small ambition, though I was gaining popularity, I had run for Junior Class president earlier that year and had lost. It was proof that in a head to head competition, most of my class wasn’t going to vote for me. Perhaps some people still saw me as the long-haired weirdo … or others were angry at my increasingly mean comments … or others thought I was the annoying kid that wouldn’t shut up during class.

Whatever it was – I had my work cut out for me. I decided to run with a few simple lessons in mind.

1. Its not a policy debate. Its a popularity contest.
2. Entertainment can surpass popularity.
3. People were expecting grand things from my speech.

So I expanded my campaign committee to include all of my buddies (Mikey Mike, Trizo, Chrispy, Kyle, & Sinbad). My primary opposition was Katie Miller. Cheerleader. Girl next door. Hottie.

My agenda for my speech/skit was simple: 1) be funny as hell, 2) have a cool theme, and 3) find a hot chick to counter Katie’s hotness. It was all very mathematical and strategic, I assure you. One of my buddies had a James Bond audio CD, so we went with that. I was friends with Carrie Hert (a pantheon member of hotness in SHS) so I asked her to be my Bond Girl.

I got my friends costumes (a suit, a tuxedo, an Army uniform) and we rehearsed like crazy. The day came and I was waiting backstage, waiting for my turn. Katie went first and she had the funny guys from the year before help her with her speech and even guys from my own soccer team (Behfar, I will never forgive you). Her skit was good … until Shawn Williams came out and did the white boy hip hop dance.

Ugh.

I had a chance. A slim one. Trouble was that all of these older, funny guys were also doing the stage direction backstage (curtains, lights, etc). I was by myself as all of my guys were on the other side. I was wearing … a tuxedo. I could see their condescending looks, trying to guess my skit.

God, I had to pee more in that moment than in my whole life.

We did the skit in front of the whole school (sophomores and juniors). It went over well, a few laughs, etc. Then the voters went to the polls. I sat nervously the entire day, thinking and re-thinking the thousand different permutations of the results. After classes ended, I walked nervously to the results posted on Mrs. Holt’s window.

Run-off: Katie Miller v. Robert Curtis.

Never A 2nd Chance For A 1st Impression

Fuck. I was doomed. My entertainment gamble only worked on the day off the skit. People would soon forget I was funny or clever and vote down traditional lines. Cheerleader. Some of my inside agents in the voting process gave me insight into the demographics of the votes.

Most of my entire class voted for Katie. All of the popular people voted for Katie. That meant that my constituency, my voters, were the same people from which I came. I had gone from social pariah – to nerd – to nobody – to ambitious loudmouth. Those faces that weren’t in the NewsPress or plastered on every page of the yearbook were voting for me.

We got a week to campaign. So I bought T-shirts and markers (with my own money … not a single moment of parental help or encouragement during this whole process) and made shirts for my friends to wear. They campaigned for me. Others campaigned for Katie (damn you, Behfar).

Then these posters started to appear on the walls of the school hallways. They were funny posters (describing an accident I had in the JC Penny’s parking lot where I hit two parked cars no less) … campaigning FOR me. They were being printed and posted completely on their own by a group of smart, but un-popular kids on my behalf. Without me even prompting.

Then something occurred to me. In the grand scheme of things, who gives a shit about who wins the 1994-95 election for Student Council president of Stillwater High School, but … this was in some small way about the unlucky loser finally getting a win. A win that he so desperately wanted. Perhaps that resonated.

Regardless, I wasn’t optimistic about my chances. I still felt like a loser inside. Everyday after class, I would drive home in my self-bought 1981 Mercury Capri and eat a microwave dinner in my roached-infested, 80 year old house. Part of me was just happy that I made a run-off and that there were others that seemed to think that by me winning, it would be a big F-U to the cozy middle class, 2 parent, mini-van aristocracy that rules high schools throughout America.

The day of the run-off came and went. No skit. Just votes. My last class of the day was English, Mrs. Seagal. Again, my head was on another planet. This time I wasn’t calculating how I could win, but preparing for the inevitable gut punch with my loss.

My friends in the class offered their condolences, assured me that they heard the voting was very close. The bell rang. I lingered at my desk, not wanting to look at the results with other people around. Mikey Mike and I went out into the hall. I didn’t say anything, finding it a bit hard to breathe. I never win anything. I am that kid. Right, Mrs. Rogers?

Suddenly, Kyle bounded up the steps and shoved me into some lockers, screaming, “YOU WON! YOU WON!”

I remember that moment as if it happened yesterday.  I wish I were kidding, because looking back at age 35 now it seems a bit absurd. But there I was – numb and exuberant all at once. I couldn’t feel my legs. The world spun. In my short, misery-laden existence, it was easily the best moment of my life. My brother and sisters would later find out and they would be proud and … a bit surprised that somehow I had managed to defy our shared Curtis destiny of high school ridicule and mockery.

Robert the Winner. God, did it feel good. Strange, but good. However much Katie Miller wanted to be StuCo President, probably as a resume builder, I can guarantee that she could never have felt the same elation that I did at that moment. It made me think that I might be able to do something with myself, with my life. Small things sometimes can create big ripples, I guess.

And for that moment, and perhaps for a few more during my tenure, I was indeed the most powerful man in the world.

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