The previous post reminded me of another incident, this time from the 8th Grade at Garces Junior High in Bakersfield, California. I it with Louise, and she said it had to go here.
I must first share with you the fact that the Garces school colors were... green. Just green. Our boys uniforms were salt-and-pepper corduroy pants and white shirts, but the girls had green plaid skirts and wore green sweaters over white blouses. As part of this exercise in mindless loyalty, we were all issued little ink pots that fit into a well at the top of our desks. The teacher would fill these periodically from a big bottle of green ink, and all of us were expected to bring pull-the-lever-and-squeeze-to-fill fountain pens. All homework had to be done in green ink or it was down-graded: an A became a B, a B became a C, etc. As you might expect, there was green ink on our fingers, and sometimes our white uniform shirts, all the time.
Our teacher that year was a tall, thin, austere man named Brother Remy. He never smiled.
"You mean Remigious, don't you?" I asked brightly and cleverly when he first introduced himself.
He turned slowly toward me.
"It's Brother Remy to you," he replied slowly, with a dark look on his face. No other explanation was forthcoming, and his countenance made clear that a follow-up question would be asking for trouble. Not very bright, not even remotely clever.
One day several of us asked if we could skip the stupid run-around-kill-the-man-with-the-ball lunchtime activity, and just stay in the classroom to study? He looked at us suspiciously, but agreed. He turned out the lights so we only had sunlight through the windows, and locked the classroom door behind him as he departed at noon for the monks' residence.
Of course there was rather little studying going on after he left. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. We froze, but it was only George. George had failed several years of classes by this point in time, so he was quite a bit older than any of us, and in fact had a noticeable 5 o'clock shadow rather early in the day. What George was missing in gray matter he made up for with enormous physical strength and ferocity. If you made him mad, George would get even. It might take awhile, since most of us could outrun him despite his tendency to bolt suddenly, but he would eventually catch one of us. He would then crush your hand with his incredible grip, or pound you in the side of the head til your ears rang.
"Let me in!" said George.
"Not anytime soon," said Neville, one of the other guys in the room with me, and flipped him a bird.
"I'll GET you!" snarled George.
"Not anytime soon," repeated Neville with a sneer.
Now I've already hinted that George wasn't the brightest bulb in the room - he was from the "other" of the two classes that had been divided by IQ testing the previous year. He glared at us for a long time through the window filling the upper half of the classroom door. Then he looked to his right, looked back and past Neville, then allowed an evil grin to slowly form on his face - and bolted to the right.
Neville was on the other side of the room in a flash. It had slant-open windows, and one was open. Suddenly George's triumphant face appeared through that window.
"Ah-HAH!" George exulted.
"Ah-HAH," said Neville, and with a "spoosh" he emptied one of the green ink-pots on George's upturned face. As George jerked back, Neville slammed the window shut - right into George's nose. George glared murderously, flexing claw-like fingers like a cartoon character, then bolted away.
At that moment, we heard the door lock click, and in walked Brother Remy. By the time he entered and could clearly see us in the gloom, we were all buried in our books. He peered at us for a long moment with an inscrutable look, but didn't say anything. After a moment he turned, and opened the door and...
"Ah-HAH!" shouted George, complete with hands raised to claws, a green-splotched face, and a maniacal grin as he leaped into the doorway.
As Brother Remy stared at this apparition, it finally registered on George that this wasn't Neville.
"Oh $#!*!" said George, a look of horror coming over his face, and he bolted out of sight to the right.
Brother Remy just stood there, staring straight ahead for a long moment.
Then he slowly turned and looked at us. Our heads were buried in our books, as if nothing had happened.
He said not a word, but I swear that I saw a twitch of a suppressed smile on his face as he turned and left, locking the door behind him before he strode away.
I think I actually fell out of my chair onto the floor at that point, I was laughing so hard.
It took awhile, but George eventually laid hands on Neville and pounded him something fierce. The rest of us - maybe Neville too - thought it was worth it.
I must first share with you the fact that the Garces school colors were... green. Just green. Our boys uniforms were salt-and-pepper corduroy pants and white shirts, but the girls had green plaid skirts and wore green sweaters over white blouses. As part of this exercise in mindless loyalty, we were all issued little ink pots that fit into a well at the top of our desks. The teacher would fill these periodically from a big bottle of green ink, and all of us were expected to bring pull-the-lever-and-squeeze-to-fill fountain pens. All homework had to be done in green ink or it was down-graded: an A became a B, a B became a C, etc. As you might expect, there was green ink on our fingers, and sometimes our white uniform shirts, all the time.
Our teacher that year was a tall, thin, austere man named Brother Remy. He never smiled.
"You mean Remigious, don't you?" I asked brightly and cleverly when he first introduced himself.
He turned slowly toward me.
"It's Brother Remy to you," he replied slowly, with a dark look on his face. No other explanation was forthcoming, and his countenance made clear that a follow-up question would be asking for trouble. Not very bright, not even remotely clever.
One day several of us asked if we could skip the stupid run-around-kill-the-man-with-the-ball lunchtime activity, and just stay in the classroom to study? He looked at us suspiciously, but agreed. He turned out the lights so we only had sunlight through the windows, and locked the classroom door behind him as he departed at noon for the monks' residence.
Of course there was rather little studying going on after he left. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. We froze, but it was only George. George had failed several years of classes by this point in time, so he was quite a bit older than any of us, and in fact had a noticeable 5 o'clock shadow rather early in the day. What George was missing in gray matter he made up for with enormous physical strength and ferocity. If you made him mad, George would get even. It might take awhile, since most of us could outrun him despite his tendency to bolt suddenly, but he would eventually catch one of us. He would then crush your hand with his incredible grip, or pound you in the side of the head til your ears rang.
"Let me in!" said George.
"Not anytime soon," said Neville, one of the other guys in the room with me, and flipped him a bird.
"I'll GET you!" snarled George.
"Not anytime soon," repeated Neville with a sneer.
Now I've already hinted that George wasn't the brightest bulb in the room - he was from the "other" of the two classes that had been divided by IQ testing the previous year. He glared at us for a long time through the window filling the upper half of the classroom door. Then he looked to his right, looked back and past Neville, then allowed an evil grin to slowly form on his face - and bolted to the right.
Neville was on the other side of the room in a flash. It had slant-open windows, and one was open. Suddenly George's triumphant face appeared through that window.
"Ah-HAH!" George exulted.
"Ah-HAH," said Neville, and with a "spoosh" he emptied one of the green ink-pots on George's upturned face. As George jerked back, Neville slammed the window shut - right into George's nose. George glared murderously, flexing claw-like fingers like a cartoon character, then bolted away.
At that moment, we heard the door lock click, and in walked Brother Remy. By the time he entered and could clearly see us in the gloom, we were all buried in our books. He peered at us for a long moment with an inscrutable look, but didn't say anything. After a moment he turned, and opened the door and...
"Ah-HAH!" shouted George, complete with hands raised to claws, a green-splotched face, and a maniacal grin as he leaped into the doorway.
As Brother Remy stared at this apparition, it finally registered on George that this wasn't Neville.
"Oh $#!*!" said George, a look of horror coming over his face, and he bolted out of sight to the right.
Brother Remy just stood there, staring straight ahead for a long moment.
Then he slowly turned and looked at us. Our heads were buried in our books, as if nothing had happened.
He said not a word, but I swear that I saw a twitch of a suppressed smile on his face as he turned and left, locking the door behind him before he strode away.
I think I actually fell out of my chair onto the floor at that point, I was laughing so hard.
It took awhile, but George eventually laid hands on Neville and pounded him something fierce. The rest of us - maybe Neville too - thought it was worth it.
~~~~~
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