1963: The Ninth Grade

Ronnie Ballard was having a lousy day. It was 1963 and Ronnie was in the Ninth Grade at Pearson Junior High School in Redford Township, Michigan. Kennedy was still President and the Beatles hadn’t made a dent over here yet. For whatever reason, the only shirt Ronnie could find that morning was one he had gotten as a Christmas gift ten months earlier. He had grown and it had shrunk a little. He could still wear it but it wouldn’t stay tucked in and it was a horrendous print and Ronnie hated it. His mother had made the mistake of complimenting him on how nice he looked that morning and Ronnie had a cow, as if his mom had told him he looked like a hideous and disgusting dweeb that deserved death just for being alive. It was a bad way to start the day.

His first class was Gym. They call it P.E. or Physical Education these days but it was Gym. Mr. Farr was the instructor. On the right day he could be a very pleasant teacher, building the leaders of tomorrow through physical training and instruction. (Right.) On the wrong day he could be a vicious bastard, screaming orders like a drill sergeant and giving out whacks for some pretty minor infractions. (Not sitting down when Farr blew his whistle.) Today was a bad day and Ronnie was the focus of Mr. Farr’s vendetta, receiving three verbal assaults, two punishing sprints around the track and one whack. After showering Ronnie couldn’t remember the combination to his damn locker. He had to knock on Mr. Farr’s office door wrapped in a wet towel and ask (for the second time that semester) for the combination. This would, of course, cost him another whack. He received both the combination and the whack and walked back to his locker. He got more than a few towel snaps to his already reddened butt on the way to his locker and his classmates laughed at him. (They really did.)

Ronnie then went to Miss Smagraskis’ Art class. She was an import from Lithuania, very nice, very pretty, and she was very hard to understand because her English was not the best. They were supposed to bring in toothpicks for some kind of project and Ronnie had brought a tube of toothpaste because that’s what he thought she had said. Once he saw that everybody else had brought toothpicks, Ronnie was smart enough to keep the toothpaste in his pants and just claim that he forgot to bring his toothpicks. (It worked.)

With nothing for Ronnie to do, Miss Smagraskis asked him to deliver an envelope to Miss Hennesy’s Home Economics class. Great. Ronnie’s butt still stung and he hated the way he looked in his rotten shirt and now he was being asked to appear in front of an all-girl class and make an ass of himself. Miss Smagraskis handed Ronnie the envelope and a hall pass and he headed down the hall.

As Ronnie approached the Home Economics room he heard delighted giggles coming from inside. He peeked through the door window before he entered. God only knows why but Bart Crandall was there, surrounded by awestruck girls. Bart was a year (or two) older than his classmates, had a big greasy pompadour hairstyle, and drove to school. He was considered a “bad boy” and dangerous and he seemed to be irresistible to the girls, like a bad narcotic or something. Marilyn Queeg, who already had an outstanding woman’s body in the Eighth Grade (which was intensified by her habit of wearing a thin pink blouse over a black bra) was hanging on every word Bart said and laughed with all the other girls as he delivered another spot-on punch-line. Ronnie entered the room and made for Miss Hennesy’s desk, hoping to sneak in and out without incident. He got about half way to Miss Hennesy’s desk when Bart Crandall caught sight of him.

“Look ladies--it must be snowing outside,” Bart waited a beat and pointed out Ronnie,

“a flake just walked in!”

This brought on a wave of laughter that included Miss Hennesy. Ronnie tossed the damn envelope onto her desk and got out as fast as he could, bumping into a desk on the way out. (It hurt like hell but Ronnie wasn’t going to show any sign of weakness.)

Ronnie booked down the hallway and was almost back to the Art Room when Mr. Siefert, the Assistant Principal, asked Ronnie why he wasn’t in class. Ronnie explained that he had delivered an envelope for Miss Smagraskis.

“Let’s see the Hall Pass,” Siefert (the Rodent) demanded.

Ronnie reached into his pocket then realized that he must have dropped the pass off with the envelope. He was busted.

“Okay,” Siefert snapped, “follow me,”

The Rodent marched Ronnie back to his office, grabbed a paddle, told Ronnie to bend over, Ronnie bent and Siefert’s plank came down with authority. Ronnie’s butt felt like it was in fire and he left the Assistant Principal’s office holding both cheeks real hard.

His next class was American History. There was a substitute in for Mr. Sweeny and the class was pretty much out of control. Joe Wrigley had just come back from two days off because of a small operation he had undergone to patch up a nasty cut he had gotten in his cheek; there were thirty-eight stitches under the big white bandage. Joe was known for his hearty laugh and because of the stitches, the doctors told him to refrain from laughing. This news circulated throughout the school in about three minutes and everyone tried to make Joe laugh (because they loved him). Randy Wilson drew a picture of two fat dogs making sweet love on the front porch and put it on Joe’s desk. Joe roared with laughter, pulling out about eight stitches in the process. Joe screamed in pain, and the room exploded with raucous laughter. The situation was so deliciously harsh that Joe actually found it funny and he laughed some more. As he laughed his mouth filled with blood and the center of his bandage was turning red.

Joe was sent back to the ER, which added some spice to the day as an ambulance was called in. (Joe’s folks were let-in on the gag when they received a bill for the ambulance for a whopping Three Hundred bucks.)

Ronnie joined Tim Lugher and Paul Zarrett for lunch, which was usually pretty good. Today it wasn’t so hot; peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. The peanut butter was extremely dry and didn’t even stick to the white bread it was spread on. Kurt Singer discovered that you could peel the peanut butter off the bread in a single piece. Within two minutes, thin brown squares filled the air of the cafeteria. A lot of the peanut butter hit the tile walls and stuck. It was just a coincidence but on that very same day new milk containers were introduced—three sided paper pyramid shapes that had a pre-punched hole for a small straw. The hole was covered with a square of gummed foil. Les Slaughter discovered that when the container was empty you could tamp down the foil square back over the hole, trapping in all the air, and then stomp on it and it popped really, really loud. It took almost fifteen seconds for the cafeteria to sound like a battle field.

Despite the rough start, the redeeming qualities of Joe Wrigley’s bleeding cheek, the ambulance, the flying peanut butter and the exploding milk cartons gave Ronnie a new perspective and renewed hope. He almost looked forward to Algebra.

©2010 Tom Roy