Tales Out of School: The Fireplug Man, Daddy Takes a Dump and Hubie Takes a Beating

                My Daddy finished the ninth grade, which was pretty good for his time.  If any of you educated cousins ever start feeling self-important, think about this:  This country was built by people with an eighth-grade education.

                He only attended ninth grade because that was the first grade of high school, and the high school science class had a model steam engine, and he just could not wait to get his hands on it.

                His history teacher was a fellow named Mr. Blalock.  He was from out of town, but the school board had hired him because he had a take-no-enemies reputation and there were some pretty tough boys in the Rainey community who were getting out of control. One was even seen chewing gum in the classroom! (Gasp!) He was built like a fireplug and has short hair that he combed back so that it stood straight up on his head.

                Mr. Blalock, a widower, was raising his son alone.  Hubert was in their class.  He was a fat, soft sissy-boy that the Rainey bunch did not like.  Mr. Blalock used Hubert as an example – at the slightest provocation – real or imagined -- he would jerk ol’ Hubie up and wear him out with a hickory stick, right in front of the class. This was supposed to instill the fear of authority in the bumpkins.  Oh, they trembled in fright and feigned consternation – and giggled behind his back.

                Daddy could not spell Kat, but he liked history. The class was given a paper to write – the development of the steam engine.  That was right up Daddy’s alley.  He jumped to it – and Mr. Blalock gave him an “F.”  He counted off for spelling.  Daddy was most unhappy and told Mr. Blalock that it was most unfair because this was a History class, not an English class, and he KNEW his history. He was used to failing English class, but not History, and he deserved at least a “C.”  Mr. Blalock would not budge.

                Daddy’s pride was hurt and his reputation was damaged.  He just had to get even.  That weekend, he sneaked into the classroom through the window, took a big dump right in the middle of the class room floor, got a piece of chalk, drew a circle around it and wrote next to it on the floor.  “Mr. Blalock, someone has _ _ _ _ on the floor, and put an extra “e” on the end of the offensive word.

                When the class arrived for school Monday morning, Mr. Blalock dismissed the class until he could clean up the mess, reconvened the class, then had each student come to the blackboard and write  the message from the floor, leaving out the offensive word, so he could compare their handwriting. Mr. Blalock determined that the handwriting was, indeed, Hubie’s, so he jerked him up and went to work on him with the hickory stick.  Daddy sat there, smug.

                Mr. Blalock was sweet on the widow across the hall.  The two of them would give their classes reading assignments then meet in the hallway and giggle.  One day, one of the boys sneaked a jug of water into the classroom.  When the teachers met outside for their daily giggling session, the student poured the water into the trash can, crumpled up several sheets of paper, floated them on top and set them afire.

                And began screaming “fire, fire!, Mr. Blalock, come quick the classroom is on fire!”

                The teachers broke off their amorous conversation, Mr. Blalock rushed into the classroom and, seeing the blazing trash can, did the only sensible thing:  He stomped on it – and got a shoe full of water.”

                It was funny to everyone, and they did their best to surpress their smiles and giggles.  As Mr. Blalock looked up they had gone stony faced -- all except the one boy who wasn’t quick enough: Hubie. Mr. Blalock saw him laughing and said, HUBERT!  I should have known you were behind this.  Come up here!  And he flailed away with the hickory stick.

                Well, it happened again.  Another history paper filled with Daddy’s knowledge – and misspellings, and another “F.”  This time, Daddy did not argue with him, but decided to up the ante. He sneaked through the same window (you would think the school board would have learned by now to put a lock on it) and put tacks on the teacher’s chair.

                Monday morning, with the students in their seats, Mr. Blalock came in sat down, jumped up, yelling “Ouch, oh, (unmentionable)” and started pulling tacks from his butt. He glared at the class and said, “OK, who put tacks in my chair,” as it he expected someone to answer. He knew Hubie did not do it because they had been out of town all weekend.  Since no one answered, he decided he would question them one at a time.

                He dismissed the entire class to the auditorium and said, “Come in here when you are told to.” OK, Otis, you are first.  Otis returned to the auditorium, pale and shaken, and said, “OK Elizabeth, he wants to see you next.”  So it went, with the pale, unspeaking “already-beens” and the frightened “yet- to- goes” sitting in their seats.  Then -- “Harlis, he wants to talk to you now.”

                When Daddy arrived in the classroom, Mr. Blalock said “Sit down,” and stood over him, short, pugnacious and fluorid, with his hair standing straight up on the top of his head and said, “Harlis, why did you put those tacks in my chair?”  Of course Daddy denied it.

                “Don’t deny it,” the angry teacher responded.  “I know you did it because your classmates told me – they ratted you out.  Now, tell me why.”

                Daddy knew he was lying, because he had made sure no one saw him go in the window, and he sure had not told anyone, so he continued to deny the accusation.

                Mr. Blalock finally said, “You are dismissed. Now, send Virgil in, but don’t tell a soul about what we discussed here.  If you do, I will wear you out.” (Daddy later learned that he had said the exact same thing to each student.)

                And so it went until all the students were interviewed and class was reconvened.”         

                Mr. Blalock glared at the group and said, “Harlis, come outside with me,” and he grabbed his coat – and hickory stick.  Daddy followed him outside, and he positioned them under the open window.

                Now, Harlis, You are the oldest and biggest boy in the class (because Daddy had spent two terms – Taft’s and Wilson’s – in the second grade) and I am going to make an example of you.  You hold this coat out, and when I hit it, I want you to yell – real loud.”

                Then, whop!

 Ouch!

                Whop!

 Yow!

                Whop!

 I’m sorry, oh, I am sorry!

                Whop! 

 I won’t do it no more, just don’t hit me again!

                Well, here is one more to make sure you remember.

                Whop!

 I won’t forget I promise.

                Blalock (whispering): “Now go back into the classroom like you have been crying and if you tell a soul about what we did the next time the whipping will be real.”

                Daddy returned to the classroom sniffling and wiping his nose and sat, oh so gingerly, in his chair, as his classmates sat in stunned silence.

                “Now class,” Mr. Blalock ordered, “turn to page 138.”

                And they did.