BOYS WILL BE BOYS

I was lucky to have great friends in my hometown.  Growing up in small towns in the 50’s was so different from today.   Friendships were bonds that will never grow old.  Even though many have passed on, my memories from those years will never leave.  

There were a group of us that kind of stuck together.  Partners in crime, you might say.  We’d gather either before school or after school and plot or plans.  Sometimes plans went haywire and we’d wind up in the office of our high school principal, Mr. Glenn.  John, Jack and I all had Scooters.  It was the 50’s version of a “hog.”  Mine was red. 

In the 50’s, having a bomb shelter was something many people thought about.  The threat was real.  Mr. D, Jack’s Daddy decided to build a bomb shelter.  It was basically a hole in the ground, with a 55-gallon drum for the entry way and had a lid for the top.  There was a ladder going down into the hole, which was stocked with some rations, water, a couple of cots and blankets.  It even had electricity.  Survival kind of stuff.   It was like a small room but with a dirt floor, dirt walls, and a ceiling reinforced with railroad ties, then tin and dirt.   It became our “hide-out”.  Or so we thought.  

One day, after we checked in at homeroom, we slipped out a side door and headed for our hide out on our scooters.  We scooted down the “hole” ladder, and began making our plans for our next venture.  All of sudden, a horn is blasting up top.   Somebody said, “shhhhh” and we all fell quiet.  Jack eased up the ladder, raised the lid, and right there stood Mr. Glenn.  Apparently he had followed up from school.  “Alright boys, I know you’re down there, come on out.”  He followed up back to school.  This earned us a few days of washing windows, taking out trash, and cleaning blackboards.  Got off pretty lightly that time.  

Another day, the three of us decided it was warm enough to slip out to Coleman’s Lake.  Once again, about the time we crossed the bridge kicking up dirt, we looked around and there he was again.  “Alright boys, where you think you’re going?”  He followed us back to school.  This earned more window washing, blackboard washing, along with a few days’ detention.   Mr. Glenn was a fine man.  He just wanted to keep his herd together and there were no lengths to what he would do to make sure we stayed in the herd.  We pretty much respected his judgement after that.   I’ve often wondered if he didn't  have a good laugh at the end of the day about our little adventures.

I do recall, however, that Mr. Gambrell, showed me what a paddle was used for and so did Coach Schwabe, but for the life of me, I can’t remember the offense.  I’m sure it was a similar circumstance that a few of us decided might work out for us, and failed.