I want to begin by saying that I was not a member of the Dick Club.
Though, I think I thought I wanted to be — or at least was somewhat intrigued by the pomp and circumstance. In retrospect, however, I cannot imagine that there was much of an admissions process in place. I think it was more about showing up at the time the Dick Club met — in the cubby area of Ms. Lyons’ Shady Side Academy second grade homeroom. The year was 1977. We were private school kids (no pun intended.) If anything, this article demonstrates that it doesn’t matter where you go to school. Boys will be boys.
You see, the Dick Club was a group of second grade students (all in Ms. Lyons’s homeroom) who would semi-secretly meet up in the cubby area for some exploratory dick time. Listen, despite the fact that this was an all boys private school, by no means do I intend to imply that this group had anything to do with homoerotic fulfillment or anything of that nature. Hell, at that age, we didn’t even know what the boner was (at least I don’t think we did.) That being said, the second grade boy is already supremely aware of his dick. I mean, we discovered that bad boy way before we could even think a worthwhile thought.
Anyhoo, the Dick Club members — I think it was probably Brett B., Josh K., Ned M., and a few others … maybe David “Underwear” (sorry, I don’t have such a clear memory for all those who huddled). They would routinely meet up in the cubby area of our classroom (maybe three times in total which, at age 7, was serious commitment), amidst the chaos of knapsacks, winter coats, gloves, machine-knit Steelers pom-pom hats, and the like.
Once assembled, one of the members would produce a Playboy, or some other naughty imagery. Then the attending members would, allegedly, take turns rubbing their dicks in the fur collar of Mark Anderson’s leather jacket — maybe for just a few seconds each.
Then it happened, the secret got out.
Ms. Lyons said something like this at the end of one memorable recess, “Boys, we cannot do this anymore. I am going to have to put an end to your LITTLE dick club.” Even at that age, while we didn’t fully grasp the magnitude of her (now obvious in retrospect) double entendre — we did know that it was funny.
Little boys? Little club? Little dicks? Any way, we knew it meant this: Dick. Club. Over. It was to be over in every way. No discussion. No reflection. No reunion. No more dick club, ever. Those members would have to find new allegiances, and those of us who never put our dicks in Mark Anderson’s collar, well, we would have to accept that we would never again have the opportunity.
At any rate, I have to wonder if there was any innate genetic/psychological substance that was prominent in the willing Dick Club members that I lacked. Was I not invited? Was it pure happenstance? Did I think it was weird? I have to admit their courage was, well, ballsy. I mean some members I continued on through school with. Most, I can’t actually say if they were originally DCers or not. Life went on fine — and as far as I know, the Dick Club never again convened.
Is there a moral here? A grand take away? Shit, I don’t know. Maybe the Dick Club just needed to remembered, some closure given beyond the abrupt words of Ms. Lyons?
For what it’s worth, I think it is important to say that there was a Dick Club. I wasn’t in it. I cannot help but wonder if/how my life would be different had I been? I also wonder if any of the former Dick Club members even remember there was a Dick Club?
And, of course, that boys will be — improbably, obscenely, irrationally — boys.