It happened when I was a sophomore at Childersburg High School in the spring of 1960. It involved a friend, Leslie McInnish. My thanks goes to Leslie's family from whom I received permission to write this story.
Now when the honeysuckle started to bloom in Talladega County, Alabama, something happened in my brain. I think it had something to do with testosterone. As fate would have it, Leslie and I were in Mrs. Nix's 10th grade English class. And if memory services me correctly it was fifth period. Now at that time of day I was not really interested in learning the past perfect tense of anything.
I was minding my own business … probably day dreaming about something or looking out the window. That may have been the reason why the highest grade I ever earned in any high school English class was a D+.
All of a sudden I felt the corner of the desk behind me starting to protrude through the wood slats into my back. Now, I should explain. Childersburg High school was county school in 1960 and was introducing new desks, part wood-part metal, and taking out the old solid wood one's that weighed 6o pounds. However, the transition to all new was several years in the making; thus causing many classes to have mixed furniture. Well, as “luck” would have it, Leslie had a new one, while I was sitting in front of Leslie, in an old one.
Being the nice guy I am. I turned and pushed the desk back through the slats and out of my back. Problem solved. Well that did not last long. As I was “intently taking in every word” from Mrs. Nix concerning a dangling participle, here comes that desk top again. Thinking that my friend had simply made a mistake the first time, I now realize that his conduct was, how shall we say, questionable? At this point I turned to find Leslie grinning from ear to ear. Now anyone who knew Leslie would say, yep, that's the Leslie I knew.
Realizing that a harsh look had not worked, I turned to Leslie and explained in hushed tones STOP! Well maybe not so hushed, because at this point Mrs. Nix noticed that I had disrupted her English class. After my outburst Mrs. Nix requested my presence at her desk for a conference, at which point I was told I better not do that again or there would be consequences. Being duly admonished I returned to my desk. For a short period there was a calm. I thought "maybe it's over." NOT.
Here comes the desk again. At this point the few cells in my male 16-year-old brain that were functioning told me it was time for action. Standing up quickly, I turned to see Leslie with that grin. I grasp the desk top that had caused me so much discomfort in the past several minutes, lifted it. The end result was something to watch, which I must admit gave me a certain amount of pleasure, as Leslie's desk and contents went over backwards. The sound, as I remember, was like that of a watermelon being dropped as his head hit the floor. If you remember, those desks had no way of keeping books contained. So out came Leslie's books all over the floor. To say it created a scene was a bit of an understatement. Leslie, at this point was in shock. And, as you can imagine, the class was in total disarray.
Leslie and I were told to go to the hall, a favorite parking spot for Mrs. Nix’, how shall I say, less desirable students. It was not long until Mr. Boozer, the Principal, arrived. After a short discussion between Mrs. Nix and Principle Boozer off to the principal's office we go.
To make a long story shorter we each took five licks. Stung like hell. That paddle had holes in it! A question, since I did not take physics in high school, “do holes in the paddle increase its speed?” Just a thought.
I can't remember if Leslie made it back to the Principles office again (give me a break … it been over 51 years). I know I didn't. Leslie was a nice guy who left us way too soon.
As you read my Blog, take a moment and have a little grin for Leslie, he would like that.
In memory of Leslie McInnish July 12, 1943 - December 24, 1966.
Remember, God only gives us a certain number of days. I don't plan on wasting the ones
I have left.
Until we talk again.
Mike
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