Commentary

Shaffer: Harnett dad confronts bus bullies, gets arrested

jshaffer@newsobserver.comMarch 23, 2014 

Christopher Eichele thought the schools hadn't addressed his stepson's bad experiences on the school bus, which included having hand sanitizer smeared in his eyes. So he boarded the bus, criticized the driver and told the riders they would deal with him personally if bullying continued.

JOSH SHAFFER

— The bullying lasted all year: hitting, taunting, hand sanitizer smeared in the eyes, until finally Chris Eichele had had enough.

He marched to the corner of Ripley Road and waited for his stepson’s school bus. When it stopped, he got on, introducing a busload of middle-schoolers to one righteously ticked-off dad.

First, he laid into the driver, calling him incompetent, promising to get him replaced.

Then he turned to the kids themselves, still standing in the bus doorway.

“If anyone messes with Josh,” he told them, “they’ll be dealing with me personally.”

This fatherly gesture got Eichele charged with a pair of misdemeanors: trespassing/impeding a bus and communicating threats. But he doesn’t care. He shut the bullies down.

“It’s my responsibility to protect my children,” said Eichele, 35, “and I will do whatever I have to do to keep him safe.”

His stepson, Josh Hamilton, attends Overhills Middle School, not far from Fort Bragg in Harnett County. He was born prematurely and weighed only a pound, Eichele said, and the heavy doses of steroids left him oversized. At age 12, Josh stands 5-foot-4 and weighs 220 pounds.

“I told him, ‘Going in the middle school and high school, you’re going to get picked on,’ ” his stepdad said. “If it gets too bad, just call an adult.’”

As a new middle-schooler, Josh had no trouble in class or the hallways. Only the school bus.

When Josh got punched, Eichele says he went to Harnett County schools for help. “We’ll take care of it,” he recalls being told. He never heard anything more. (The school system hasn’t called me back, so I can’t tell you the administration’s side.)

But in January, Josh came home to say the kids on the bus had a fight with hand sanitizer and that somebody came up behind him and rubbed it in his eyes. Eichele says he filed a report with the Harnett County sheriff and talked to school resource officers. But nobody witnessed the assault, at least not on the record.

The lack of communication bothered him most.

Eichele felt like he was following the right channels, playing by the rules, and nobody ever explained what was happening beyond saying, “We’ll take care of it.” He didn’t find out until after his arrest that some of the students on the bus had been suspended from school. But even after being punished, those students came back, and the bullying continued.

So he decided to stop it himself. Eichele is a big man: 6-foot-4 and more than 300 pounds. Not to mention the tattoos and lip studs. But I have a feeling those kids were so startled that they would have sat at attention even if Eichele were a foot shorter in a suit and tie.

“We’ve had no problems since I stepped on that bus,” he said. “Josh was glad to see somebody actually stand up for him.”

All of this registers somewhere around my solar plexus.

I spent all of the ninth grade and part of the 10th being tormented by kids on the school bus. I was tall and gawky, carried a trombone case and spent most of the rides reading by myself. A buffet line for bullies.

The bus driver was usually half-awake. You could sit wherever you wanted. You could smoke pot. You could throw things out the window. You could call people names involving unnatural acts with animals. On the bus, especially on a long rural route like mine, idiots rule.

But my father fixed my problem. He didn’t step foot on the bus. He told me to walk up to whatever kid I chose, tell him I wouldn’t fight him on school property because I had too much to lose, but if he’d come to my house at noon on Sunday I’d beat the crap out of him.

This would make me look tough, my dad assured me, and the bully would never have the guts to show up.

Imagine my surprise when one of them came knocking that Sunday, and Dad just said, “Go kick his (behind).”

One bloody nose and busted knuckle later, I was shaking hands with him, making a bus rider’s truce.

Maybe next time a bullying situation arises, somebody on Harnett County’s payroll will climb on board the bus and enforce such a peace.

Then Eichele and I won’t have to do it ourselves.

jshaffer@newsobserver.com or 919-829-4818

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