Disclaimer: Sections of this article have been exaggerated somewhat for dramatic effect. This is not meant to stand as an accusation against anyone, and it is just as likely Joe was misplaced as someone is to have maliciously stole him. Read with an ample grain of irony.
Wilcox High School. In my two long years at the school, I’ve seen this place harbor people from every walk of life: students half asleep at 1st period, teachers an interruption away from administering detentions, students half asleep at 7th period, guards riding terrifying golf carts, and a lot more half-asleep students. Yet the kind of person I study today could not be expected even amongst Wilcox’s many personas. It is a person only to be found in the deepest, darkest underbellies of polite society. The kind of person I study today, and that I regret to inform you could still be lurking in Wilcox’s corridors…is a mannequin-napper.
It was an innocent enough day. The trees were green, the quad was gray, and, being in the middle of summer break, lingering adolescent joy filled the campus. All, it seemed, was as it should be. In the ASB office, Kathleen MacDonald—vice principal and head of ASB—stirred, ready to depart on her own break. She made her way to the exit as she always had, and, before leaving, perhaps glanced upon the counter. Upon it, ever-occupied with his silent gaze, was a plastic figure few have seen since: Will, Letterman, or, as he was commonly known, Joe, the ASB office mannequin.
Enter the crime which I investigate today. Joe would not be in position upon Ms. MacDonald’s return; in fact, he would be nowhere to be found. Joe, for all anyone knew, had met a shadowed, grizzly fate. To parse what happened during those fateful summer weeks is my goal today, and it is one that reaches through the depths of the B building, peaks of the R building, length of the S building, and crime-stained ASB office—but mostly just the ASB office. So sit back, and allow me to narrate to you my investigation of Wilcox’s darkest crime.
I began where all good investigations do: the victim. Joe, as I’ve come to learn, was a man of few words. He was duty bound above all, never so much as blinking in his eternal watch over the ASB office. Joe’s physique was lofty despite his lack of a lower half, his body likely made from plastic. Yet Joe’s stoic persona did not define him; he had a surprising love for fashion, and could be found wearing a variety of outfits over his time at Wilcox. All in all Joe was a focused man—the last one would expect to generate enemies, much less those willing to act.
I first entered the ASB office to investigate Joe on March 30. The room seemed innocuous as ever. Sunlight poured in through the windows, the whiteboard remained etched with faded ASB to-do lists, and students’ laughs echoed from the room adjacent. No sign existed of the gruesome deed committed just months prior. Grimacing, I moved on towards the desk of Ms. Elbert; ASB office secretary since last summer, key witness and, potentially, viable suspect.
The effect of Joe’s mention on the office was immediate. One could have imagined the clamor of the office receded ever so slightly, and Ms. Elbert shifted somewhat. She looked at me through narrowed eyes and said, though the exact words I hadn’t thought to record, something to the effect of: “We’d actually prefer if you didn’t write or talk about that too much. It was a…traumatic experience. I don’t want that being brought back up again.”
She went on to give some details on Joe over his time in the office. She mentioned that upon entry he would “scare the bajeebees” out of her, and that, when she walked into work one day, he was simply gone. The interview soon wound to a close, we said our farewells, and I walked out into the R building.
Once outside the office, I redoubled my pace and frowned. Ms. Elbert was not the most versed on Joe’s history in her short time at Wilcox, but her mention of the disappearance’s trauma made evident its impact on her. Scared the bajeebees out of her, though…no, no, the malice of a mannequin-napper wasn’t present in her words. It couldn’t be her—I’d have to press on with what leads she did present. As I reached the doors, I flung them open and stepped into the quad’s warm light.
Next on the block was Ms. MacDonald, who Ms. Elbert had made mention of in relation to Joe. I entered her office and seated myself on a chair opposite her. As she spoke of Joe her words were steady, almost reminiscent. Around 8 years ago, she informed me, Joe was moved from the old student body office into the current one. Joe, overall, must have been present for around 15 years—old, but not inconceivably so. Her opinion of him seemed quite positive. According to her, he “kind of scared people…[Joe] really protected the student body office.”
Her tone soon changed. When the crime itself was broached, Ms. MacDonald spoke with a sense of disbelief: “I have no idea where he went. The whole mannequin and the Letterman jacket, all his clothing: all gone. I don’t know.” Once again, Joe’s disappearance seemed supernaturally abrupt. Afterwards, Ms. MacDonald answered a question of mine letting me know the ASB office doesn’t have security cameras, and once more I stepped out of the office.
It was obvious Ms. MacDonald was not the culprit. By her own admission, the only people allowed in the ASB office over the summer were Ms. Elbert and the custodians—besides, she had little to gain from the crime. She did have much more knowledge of Joe’s history, but his origins remained mysterious and little that would lead to his discovery could be extracted. The lead into who and where Joe was had, for the most part, gone cold. That is, except for the recommendation of one interviewee: Ms. Tracy.
Ms. Tracy is a paraprofessional at Wilcox, but she broke it down to me more simply; “I’m a teacher’s aide, and I help students that need help.” When I began to speak with her, she astounded me with her knowledge about Joe. She provided insight into Joe’s stoic personality, and how she expanded his clothing passion by introducing him to “new threads” beyond his signature Letterman Jacket. Generally, Ms. Tracy seemed like the only person to really bring Joe out of his shell: she once brought him to a homecoming game—a break in his long career stuck in the ASB office—and used stuffing to introduce him to the pants and shoes his upper half otherwise had no opportunity to wear.
Yet there was one fact she revealed that struck me more than any other. Joe had not been at Wilcox for 15 years as Ms. MacDonald anticipated. Nor has he been here for 20. And—considering he was there when Ms. Tracy joined Wilcox in 1998—it’s likely he’s been here for more than 25.
That meant Joe’s disappearance was not just unusual. It was downright unnatural. Joe has the potential to have been at Wilcox since it first opened its doors in 1961, and in at least 2 and a half decades of standing watch not once has he been “borrowed,” as Ms. Tracy optimistically put it. Without Joe, the school has lost not just a mannequin, but a part of its very definition.
And that, unfortunately, is where the lead for me went cold. I sent out an email to the custodian and Ms. Tracy proposed to advertise a reward for information about Joe, but little else about the matter is being done. For all intents and purposes, Joe the mannequin is gone.
But that doesn’t have to be the case. If readers have any information about Joe, the Scribe would be more than happy to receive tips about him. If Joe was restored to his position in the ASB office an important member of Wilcox’s community could finally return home, and the school’s most gruesome crime would be brought to justice.
