Mrs. Hendricks called out my name again. At this point, I was too choked up to speak even if I wanted to. All the other kids were snickering or outright laughing at me. She began walking towards me, and I didn’t know what to do, but knew I couldn’t just stand there. So, doing what I did best, I turned and ran.

A Different Era

Back then, in 1958, there were no security issues or air conditioning, so all doors and windows remained open to circulate air. This was fortunate for me and made for an almost instant escape from the classroom. However, I had no idea where to go next and blindly sped down the hallway and through the door at the end trying to just get out and go home. But it wasn’t an exit, it was the largest bathroom I had ever seen! A whole row of sinks on one side and toilets on the other. I heard footsteps and voices coming so I hid in one of the stalls that surrounded the toilets. Someone opened the door and called out my name, but I was quiet as a mouse…and they went away.

I was in there for maybe five minutes when someone came in, opened one of the stall doors, slammed it shut, then opened the very one I was hiding behind. It was a girl!! And she started screaming and running away! I had no idea what to do or where to run, so I just sat down on the toilet.

Later, as I sat outside the principles office, I could hear Mrs. Hendricks explaining to the principal that I had ran out of class, hidden in the girls’ bathroom, and scared a girl (Donna) to death. The principal then called both our moms. By the time Mom got there, I had received the first two of many “paddlings” I would receive throughout my “board” of education experience (pun intended). The first for leaving the classroom without permission and a second for being in the girls’ bathroom.

At the time I didn’t understand why the girl and her mom were so upset. My mom’s explanation made no sense to me either, but I now understood that going into the girl’s bathroom resulted in a paddling. It was a high price to pay, but I was never asked to stand up and talk in first grade again.

Spitballing

Things went much better for a few days. I began to love school and made some friends who showed me how to shoot “spitballs” through a straw (small wads of paper moistened with spit). We had a wonderful time at recess choosing up sides and having “spitball wars.” One day the teacher left the room and assigned one of the girls to be “monitor,” which is another word for “snitch.” It turns out the monitor was the same girl who got me in trouble for being in the girl’s bathroom. Donna (the snitch) is the only kid’s name I remember from the first grade. For some reason, I decided it would be a good idea to use my new skill and pay her back with a spitball to the back of her head. This would serve two purposes: first, it would bring me sweet revenge; and second, it would raise my status within our little army of spitball warriors. So, I put the perfect size wad of notebook paper in my mouth and juiced it up real good. I made sure some of the other warriors were watching, aimed at the back of her head, and fired!

I don’t know if it was the sound of my fellow warrior’s giggles or the sound of the spitball launching, but at the last millisecond, she began to turn toward me and the fat juicy spitball “splattered” on the side of her face. A roar of laughter from the boys erupted as she screamed and began crying.

For once, at that moment in time, I felt like a hero. I had gotten my revenge, and my status as a warrior would obviously be elevated far beyond my expectations. Then, above all the laughter and commotion, came the sound of a yardstick slapping on the chalkboard, along with Mrs. Hendricks calls for “Quiet!!” The class quickly became silent, except for me and my buddy’s faint little snickers. Mrs. Hendricks, stating she could hear us all the way down the hall, angrily demanded to know why we were all making so much noise. The monitor (snitch) Donna stood up, holding out the spitball on a piece of tissue and pointed right at me. (Girls are already carrying tissue)?

Sour Revenge

I was still feeling like a hero, until I grabbed my ankles and the first lick of the paddle lifted me off the floor. I believe the principal hit me with the second lick before my feet even touched back down. I didn’t feel the third lick as my butt was numb from the first two licks. My other paddlings were child’s play compared to this one.

So, let’s re-cap: I should learn to spell “girl’s restroom” and also don’t shoot spitballs in class. I think I’ve got it, but just in case, Mrs. Hendricks and the principal took turns using some very convincing words of warning for me to clean up my act. They also added after-school detention for a week and sent a typed letter home explaining my “Crime and Punishment.” Mom, God bless her, thought there was no further punishment needed and didn’t tell Daddy. Whew! There’s a flower in every thorn bush.

That night when Dad came home, the talk at supper centered not on me, but on this burglar person that continued breaking into homes at the projects. I knew it was a bad thing, but still didn’t quite understand until Dad explained it to me at the supper table. I was horrified to learn that this man was breaking into people’s homes and taking things that didn’t belong to him. And he was doing this right in our housing project. The last place he broke into was just one building away from ours!

Safely Under The Covers

I couldn’t sleep that night, as I lay there taking inventory of my belongings. I didn’t have much and I sure couldn’t afford to lose what little I owned. Most important was my baseball glove, my bat, and St. Louis Cardinals ballcap. Then there was my pocket knife, fire truck, and finally, the skates I had gotten for my last birthday. Oh! Also, the cool pair of pliers that came with the skates. Being a used pair, they didn’t come with a skate key to adjust them with. After taking inventory, it dawned on me that I did have a lot of stuff, so before I went to sleep that night, everything I owned was in the bed with me, safely hidden under the covers.

I was awakened during the night by screaming coming from downstairs. This was followed by banging and thumping on the stairs. I heard Daddy shouting, “What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” followed by Mom shouting, “He went out the back door!!” And then I knew what it was. It had to be that burglar!! I ducked under the covers and hid with my stuff. I was scared to death, but like all kids, somehow being under the covers made me feel safe.

Related:

“Living Large” At The Amazing Public Housing Projects (Part 1)