Naked Dwayne and His Bit-O-Honey

The story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

I remember the first time I saw a naked man.

It was the summer of 1974. I was 10 years old. And it was awesome.

My childhood was like those Our Gang movies. There were 14 of us kids living in a cul-de-sac, all friends, with no more than four years between us. The Douglas Street cul-de-sac, also called “the court,” kept us close and insulated from the rest of the neighborhood. It was our own idyllic world of late-night hide and seek, riding bikes, making 8mm movies, and playing baseball.

The first in the series of incidents occurred on an early summer evening. The cul-de-sac made for a perfect baseball diamond. My best friend Luis and I were playing outfield. As we waited for something to come our way, behind us we heard the clack! of what sounded like a small rock hit the street. Then… another clack! We looked down and there on the pavement were two individually wrapped bite-sized Bit-O-Honey candies. Where’d they come from? Clack! another one touched down.

We looked to the house behind us. It belonged to Old Man and Old Lady Stewart, two sexagenarians who were the oldest couple in the court. There, peeking over the top of the redwood fence on the side of their house was Dwayne, the couple’s 20-something son. When Dwayne saw us see him, he stood up. He was shirtless. Okay. Well…it was summer. But then he opened the gate and revealed to all of us kids…his buck naked body! He just stood there, staring at us. Dong in one hand, individually wrapped, bite-sized Bit-O-Honeys in the other.

As the other kids moved in for a closer look, Dwayne chucked the rest of the candy at us, slammed the gate shut and disappeared into the garage.

One Decade’s Predator is Another Decade’s Streaker

If Naked Dwayne’s goal was to scandalize us, it didn’t quite work. Back then, our little minds weren’t programmed to see a naked man as a traumatic attack on our psyches. This was 1974. The biggest fad wasn’t Pet Rocks, CB radios or mood rings. It was streaking.

Streaking was a national craze. People were running around naked everywhere: college campuses, ballgames, even the Oscars! Hell, that novelty song “The Streak” was #1 on the Billboard charts — and we kids were singing right along with it on our AM radios. Now we had our very own streaker! So Naked Dwayne didn’t really upset us. But what did upset Luis and me was his choice of inducement. Bit-O-Honey? That candy sucked. Ten-year-old kids don’t like Bit-O-Honey. We liked chocolate-based candy; Marathon, Snickers, Choco’ Lite, Caravelle, even a plain Hershey bar. Anything but goddamned Bit-O-Honey. This guy was total amateur hour and we weren’t impressed.

Regardless of his confectionery inefficacy, with a naked guy on the loose, no one was really interested in playing baseball anymore. Game called on account of Naked Dwayne.

Pull Weeds Outta My Ass!

I ran home and told my mom and dad what just happened — that we saw Dwayne naked and how fun it was…even though the candy should’ve been better. My mom freaked out and wanted to call the police. My dad proclaimed Naked Dwayne to be an idiot and calmly headed over to talk to him.

Outside, all us kids followed my dad over to the Stewarts’ house for the big showdown. When we got there, Naked Dwayne had his pants on and was playing the whole thing off like he was gardening. My dad looked over the fence at him.

“You stop bothering these kids or I’m calling the police!”

Naked Dwayne continued his charade. “I’m pullin’ weeds, can you dig it?”

“Pull weeds outta my ass!” my dad shot back. And with that, he marched home figuring the problem was resolved now that Naked Dwayne knew an adult was onto him.

Naked Dwayne Goes Viral — 70s Style!

Word traveled fast through the kids underground about the naked man in our cul-de-sac. Soon kids of all ages from blocks away were making the pilgrimage to see Naked Dwayne. Nowadays, with social media, Naked Dwayne would just go viral and kids would sit on their asses in their rooms watching him on their iPhones while he ran around naked, throwing out crappy candy. But this was the 70s. We had to make an effort to see nudity — but we got to see it live.

On the afternoon of the second incident, there were over 20 kids camped out in our cul-de-sac demanding the naked man appear. The frenetic energy was palpable. The fired-up horde was chanting “Dwayne Dwiener! Dwayne Dwiener! Dwayne Dwiener!” Having already seen his dick, Luis and I were more interested in his candy choice this time around. Sure enough, sticking to his script, Naked Dwayne began his performance by launching candy over the fence. The first volley landed on the sidewalk. Clack! It didn’t sound like chocolate. We looked at it. Brach’s Butterscotch Disk.

Now Luis and I were really pissed. No self-respecting kid eats butterscotch disks. This guy was completely clueless. Seriously, Bit-O-Honey and now butterscotch discs? What was next? Those white nougat cubes with the jellied fruit bits inside? Brach’s candy is the “Official Candy of the Elderly.” I knew this because when my grandmother sent me to the store to buy her candy it was always Brach’s. And that’s when it dawned on me: Naked Dwayne was using his parents’ candy! It explained everything. That half-asser didn’t even make the effort to buy candy especially for us. We gave him his jollies and he didn’t even have the decency to give us a chocolate-covered reach-around. What a selfish prick.

We ignored a dozen more of the candy clunkers before Naked Dwayne finally made his appearance. While his candy choice still blew chunks, I had to give him props for changing up the choreography from his previous performance. This time Naked Dwayne repeatedly ran past the open gate, offering quick glimpses of his bare ass and flopping dong. We went bonkers, applauding and cheering.

Just when things were rockin’ an’ rollin’ the Stewarts’ next-door neighbor Mrs. Fitzpatrick appeared out of nowhere and boy was she pissed. She told us all to go home then informed Naked Dwayne she was calling the police. Unfortunately, by the time the cops arrived, Naked Dwayne had taken a powder in his early 70s brown Dodge Tradesman windowless “molester van” with the tinted portholes on the sides.

The Secret Origin of Naked Dwayne

Later, when a few of us kids returned to the normalcy of playing in the cul-de-sac, Old Lady Stewart came out to talk to us. She told us Naked Dwayne had just come home from the war. She said things happened to him there that made him confused and that’s why he did what he was doing.

I knew about the war. At dinner time, we’d watch the news and I saw film from Vietnam. I saw men shooting guns. I saw injured men being carried away. Sometimes I even saw blood. It scared me. I was afraid someday I’d have to go to Vietnam. Now I was afraid that when I came back, I’d run around with my clothes off like Naked Dwayne.

Later that night, I told my dad what Old Lady Stewart said. He wasn’t buying it for a second. I believe the word he used was “bullshit.” I wasn’t so afraid anymore.

Third Time’s the Harm

After a few days, Naked Dwayne was back — and so were even more kids. Close to 30 this time, including our neighborhood nemeses, the Bainbridge Court gang lead by Barry Ross. We faced off against them in baseball, basketball, skateboarding, bike riding…whatever it was it was always a bitter rivalry. Sometimes we bested them, sometimes they bested us. But this time we won. Naked Dwayne was on our territory so we made the rules. If they wanted into our court to see our naked man, they had to first concede defeat to us. Those Bainbridge pussies rolled over and exposed their genitals faster than we could say Brach’s butterscotch disks.

There we were—both the Douglas and Bainbridge courts, bitter rivals—standing together chanting, “Dwayne Dwiener! Dwayne Dwiener! Dwayne Dwiener!” We glanced at one another with smiles on our faces. During that moment of common ground, the wall partially came down between us. From then on, while the rivalry remained, it was more friendly than enemy. Naked Dwayne, the ambassador of wang, had brought us together.

Pop Goes Dwiener

It seemed like we’d been waiting hours and yet no Naked Dwayne. We knew he was home; his stupid van was there. The throng was becoming rowdy like at a rock concert when the band’s late. The chanting turned to yelling. Still no Naked Dwayne. The frenzied mob was demanding entertainment and if they didn’t get it pronto, the scene was going to get ugly — and then not even Naked Dwayne could corral this surly beast.

Finally, like manna from heaven, the first piece of candy hit the street. Clack! You gotta be kidding me. Fucking Brach’s again. Goddamned Star Brite peppermints this time. I’d rather have Bit-O-Honey and butterscotch disks than these bullshit after-dinner mints. Naked Dwayne was throwing those red and white throat lozenges by the hand full. This time, it wasn’t just Luis and me who were pissed. The mob didn’t want crappy candy—it wanted nudity—and it let Naked Dwayne know that by firing those pieces of peppermint poop right back over the fence at him. And when the candy was gone, some kids began chucking anything they could get their hands on — cups of soda, rocks, sticks.

As if oblivious to all the chaos, Naked Dwayne insouciantly exited the garage, stood behind the redwood fence and stared at us. But this was no longer about Naked Dwayne; it was now about the enraged mob. So by the time Naked Dwayne flung open the gate with his plonker hanging out, it was too little, too late. The situation was so out of control, a simple schlort wasn’t enough to appease the beast.

Kids were laughing at Naked Dwayne. Making fun of his hairy body. Insulting the size of his penis. I sort of felt sorry for the poor son of a bitch. He was nothing more than a naked performing monkey now having to work extra hard to figure out new ways to amuse us. Problem was, he only had one dick and he’d pretty much used it all up. Unless he could magically grow another dong in the next couple of seconds, he was toast.

In a desperate attempt to win us back, Naked Dwayne side armed even more shitty candy at us. At that point, he could’ve got Willy Wonka himself to personally airdrop thousands of chocolate bars on us and it wouldn’t have helped.

The situation was teetering on the brink of bedlam. And then…the line was crossed.

Cry Havoc and Let Strip the Dogs of War!

It was the Walker brothers from down the street—Mark, Billy and Daniel. They weren’t even part of our court; they just invited themselves in to see the naked guy. Armed with what we called “Nazi Bombs” — the grape-sized, hard-as-rock berries from tall juniper trees — the three brothers executed a military-style double envelopment flanking maneuver, simultaneously ambushing Naked Dwayne on both sides and mercilessly pelting him with a barrage of Nazi bombs. For cover, Naked Dwayne closed the redwood gate to block the incoming fire. Ever the showman, he slipped his gherkin through the narrow opening in the gate. As the little fellow waved up and down at us within the hail of Nazi Bombs ricocheting off the fence, the third Walker brother jumped in and slammed the gate on the little general and his two colonels. Naked Dwayne let out the blood-curdling scream of an eight-year-old girl while staggering into the garage. It was the castration heard ‘round the court. The crowd went berserk—laughing, screaming and yelling for more.

Reacting to the cacophonous frenzy, a few moms bolted out of their houses. In one fell swoop, they dispersed the crowd, alerted the other moms and appointed a representative to call the cops. And just like that, the best summer day we ever had was over. Bummer.

You’ll Never Wank in This Town Again

Maybe it was because he was injured or tired or had just given up, but Naked Dwayne didn’t lam it this time. I remember two police officers banging on the Stewarts’ front door and then entering the house. A short while later, they exited, escorting a handcuffed, no-longer Naked Dwayne wearing cut-off jean shorts and a tank top. It was weird seeing him with clothes on. The cops put him in the back of the police car and drove him away.

When he eventually returned home, he kept a low profile then shortly thereafter moved out. That was the last we ever saw of Naked Dwayne.

Candy-Coda Memories

Growing up in the 1970s with only three TV networks, AM radio, some records and an occasional movie, a grown man performing as a children’s dick clown was a welcome amusement. For one week during that magical summer, Dwayne Dwiener became part of our daily lives — wake up, run through the sprinklers, play baseball, see the naked man, play hide and seek, go to bed. This may be difficult to comprehend looking at it through the prism of today’s social mores, but you had to be there. It was a different time. Contrary to popular recollection, the world was not a more innocent place; it’s just that the people in it were a bit more naïve.

Nearly five decades after that first Bit-O-Honey hit the ground, Luis and I are still best friends. We continue to marvel at how nonchalant everyone was about the whole thing. Aside from a few calls to the cops, what happened in the court stayed in the court. And in the end, everyone emerged pretty much unscathed.

If we were kids today and Naked Dwayne pulled a stunt like that, all holy hell would break loose. The authorities would move in, haul him away in chains and seal off the cul-de-sac. Child protective services would deem our parents unfit for exposing us to a man who exposed himself to us and they’d be hauled away in chains. A battalion of child psychologists would be airlifted into the court, armed with anatomically correct puppets demanding that we “Point to where the man touched you!” And when the dust settled we’d be placed in foster homes, our parents granted supervised visitation on holidays. Naked Dwayne would be a registered sex offender and the system meant to protect us kids would actually end up traumatizing us way more than just seeing Dwayne’s Dwiener did.

My dad had it right; a simple “pull weeds outta my ass” diffused the situation by making us kids laugh. The reason we weren’t emotionally scarred by the ordeal was that we didn’t know we were supposed to be. Living in sunny California, we had no idea what snowflakes were.

Then again, I just spent 2,557 words recounting something that happened to me 47 years ago. I defended a man who exposed himself to me when I was a child. And every Halloween I give out only chocolate candy.

Holy shit. I’m all fucked up.

© 2021 M. K. Jackson