It's been many years since I
attended public schools. When I was a senior, there were still a few dinosaurs roaming here and there. So, since
I'm old, I have earned the right to begin this story with that
well-worn phrase-” Back in my day.” The teachers of my era ran
the show. A student's job was simply to follow his or her orders.
If a young person chose not to do so, the “lumber”- a
well-constructed paddle- would be put to good use.
Some of the teachers actually
made their own paddles. The mechanical drawing teacher, in particular, was an expert craftsman. He knew just how many holes drilled into
the weapon would give the maximum effect, that is, the most pain.
Some of the female teachers would administer corporal punishment, but
usually they would call upon male instructors to inflict the pain.
During the first class of the
year, the aforementioned mechanical drawing teacher started us on a
simple drawing before proceeding to call students one at a time out
to the hallway. His speech began: “Now, if you do what I tell you
to do, we'll get along just fine, but if you choose otherwise, you'll
meet up with this paddle.”
It was a thing of beauty, with
an extra-long handle to increase speed. The air swooshing through
the paddle's multiple holes made a rather majestic sound just before
the wood met the posterior. Before returning to class, the student
would have to lean against the wall so that he could receive a “love
tap,” a sample of what awaited any young man who was stupid enough
to defy the man in charge. Luckily, I was never that stupid!
One day at lunchtime, while two
young men were playing pool, the physical education teacher walked
by, sporting his “old man's” hat, the kind you see detectives
wear in 1940s era movies. Being boys, they made a few funny remarks
about the coach's derby. In response, the ticked-off instructor went
to his office, grabbed his trusty paddle, and then administered his
form of justice.
Later that same coach was
holding football practice in the small gym because of lightning
storms. After working at stations for a half hour or so, he had us
gather around so that he could impart important information: “Now
boys, when you block an opponent, you must get into a lower
stance...blah, blah, blah....”
Evidently, two of the players
didn't think the coach's information was all that important because
they were carrying on their own discussion. Soon, the coach was in
their faces: “Boys, when I talk, you listen!” Then we resumed the
drills.
About thirty minutes later, he
halted the drills once again, and once again he began imparting his
wisdom to us. And once again, those two boys were gabbing away,
oblivious to any of the coach's remarks. Coming up behind them, the
coach sprang into action, fiercely cracking their heads together.
Fortunately, they were wearing their helmets. Like a thunderclap,
the noise reverberated around the gym. Everyone paid attention
during the rest of the workout.
Old teachers never die; they
just get erased. Many years later, my brother-in-law attended his
high school reunion. To his surprise, the get-together was attended
by one of his former physical education instructors. The old
gentleman brought with him a mystery object wrapped neatly inside
a box.
After the meal, the old teacher
spoke: “Many years ago, when you were students at this school, I
had a problem one day during health class. Every time I'd turn to
write on the board, someone would hit me with a spitball. Nobody
would tell me who did it, well, not until today.”
Then the old coach called up a
middle-aged man who had been fingered as the culprit from those many
years ago. Inside the box was a brand-new paddle made explicitly for
this occasion. After the culprit leaned against the wall, the old
teacher showed that he still had some energy to put behind his swing.
Once he was finished, the coach
replied: “Justice delayed is still justice served.”
Wow! Our teachers were so good
that they would never let a crime go unpunished, even if it took 40
years to serve old-fashioned justice by means of a slab of lumber.
