I guess I ought to finish the story of Stanley. Like John Coffey in The Green Mile, Stanley more often than not was a gentle giant—one who possessed unusual talents. There really was more favorable than unfavorable about him. Shock of shock, he really was a Teddy Bear like his former teacher said—most of the time—although we had several more dangerous bouts with him over the next two and a half years. The biggest stressor in having him around was the total unpredictability of his outbursts.
Once we were in an assembly; I think it was during the Christmas season, and one of the high school Madrigal troupes was performing. Stanley was sitting right in front of my co-teacher when he suddenly turned in his chair and came down on her with those huge hands. In a flash, several of us were on him. It was all we could do to get him out of the gym and into the hall. There we were, six or seven of us, each trying to control an arm or leg, or both. Even the principal was in the thick of things. All the while Cheryl was there talking us, and Stanley, through the situation so that he could get what he needed, and more importantly, so that no one got injured. Finally, after about 20 minutes, he decided he wasn’t going to get anywhere and said he wanted to go outside. Two minutes later he and I we were sitting outside on a bench in a show shower with him rehearsing Mormon temple dedication dates. He knew them all.
We had episodes like that every couple of months. In all fairness, though, he calmed down tremendously. Eventually we felt safe taking him into the community on a regular basis. One time the whole class went to the Gateway District in downtown Salt Lake City to watch a 3D Imax movie at the planetarium. As we walked from the light rail stop to the theater, Stanley stayed unusually close to me. As always I was wary of him, my muscles tensed, ready for anything. Was he getting ready to blow? I had my hands tucked into my coat pockets. It was pretty chilly. Suddenly I felt a huge hand sneak into my pocket and take mine.
“Are you cold, Stanley?”
“No.”
“Oh, I get it,” I thought to myself. He was feeling a bit insecure; he needed some reassurance.
We went into the theater and took our seats. We were the only group there. It was all of 10:30 a.m., and we were it. We filled one entire row right across the center of the theater. There in the middle was Stanley, sitting about two feet higher than everyone else, the only one wearing those goofy paper 3D glasses. I started laughing out loud at my own mental image of how this scene must have looked from the front.
“What are you laughing at?’” asked one of the staff.
“Picture yourself down front looking back at this lot.”
We both started giggling uncontrollably as one of the docents just then walked down the steps, front and center, to welcome us to the theater. She was clearly having a problem stifling her own giggles.
(I said I should finish the story of Stanley. Well, I didn't. More later.)
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