Note to Parents: While this article talks about my own misdeeds it is not an endorsement or blessing of your kid doing such things unless they do it with more style and flair than me. In which case I need to meet them, as I do appreciate genius and want to make sure that they have the opportunity to school them in the ways of the “Farce.”
I am watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off after reading the product reviews of Sugar Free Gummy Bears on Amazon.com. I have to give a shout out to my wife Judy and friend Amber for making me read them. They were so funny I thought that I was going to crap my pants, something you might do if you partake of these sugar free delicacies.
After this I began to reminisce about some of my own sneaky misdeeds in high school. I was a sneaky little shit when I think about it, and I think that is why I appreciate Ferris Bueller.
No one suspected me of such behavior because of my shy, studious nice guy persona. Now to be fair I was pretty introverted most of the time. To top it off I was a NJROTC cadet in the years following Vietnam, what some called a “ROTC Nazi.” I played on the Sophomore Football team, albeit not very well, I was active in church and I was a pretty nice guy.
When I look in some of my yearbooks and see the comments inscribed by friends and they all pretty much reflect the image that I put out. I was a complete goof off in some classes and show off in classes that I liked. It never hurts to show off and do great in things that you do really well because people assume that you must be that way in everything.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KFVLWX7eEY
I found that by faking being a really serious student was far better cover to get away with things than being an in your face rebel. The fact that I carried a large stack of books with me everywhere I went added the image. It did make my arms tired, but when you have little else to use you take advantage of what you have.
Thus, most people never suspected me of anything. Except my little brother Jeff who had me nailed though he was still in elementary school. Little brothers and sisters have that ability. He is now a school administrator.
In the 1970s Stockton had a common core of classes to prepare us for life. One of them was a class in health which also included the academic preparation for drivers training. Mrs Davenport was our teacher, and she was great as my classmates can tell you. During the class we got to see two of the best “scare the shit out of you” films of all time. They were Wheels of Tragedy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uQ8aZ6CYASA produced in 1963 by the Ohio State Patrol and Red Asphalt http://www.documentingreality.com/forum/f166/red-asphalt-18740/ produced in the early 1970s by the California Highway Patrol.
They were some of the creepiest educational films ever made. I’m sure that the girls were really grossed out by them, especially when Mrs. Davenport left the room we played it backwards on the 16mm projector. If these films were shown in theaters today they would get an “R” rating for violence and close up depictions of dead bodies. I don’t know if they are still shown as they are somewhat dated, but they are pretty graphic in kind of Quentin Tarantino “Grindhouse” sort of way.
In the third quarter many of us took the actual drivers education class. If we completed it we were given a Learner’s Permit and we turned 16 we would be able to take the actual California DMV written and behind the wheel tests.
This class was taught by Mr. Allerdice, a stocky retired Marine. He was like nice drill sergeant. These classes were limited to 3 students. They included a bunch of time behind a simulator followed by supervised driving in a Chevy Nova which had two sets of controls. One was for the student and the other was “My God we’re about to die!” controls on the right side of the car. This was intimidating but still kind of fun, especially because we knew that if we were successful we got our learners permit and were pretty much golden for the DMV. I had no problems with the class, and I got ready for the real deal training on my parents 1972 Chevy Impala which was about the size of a small armored vehicle.
Shortly after my 16th birthday it came time for my driver’s test, and I had to find a way out of school so my mom could take me to the DMV. There was one problem, there was no way of getting out of class just to go to the DMV. I had to think, and think fast so I thought of a devious plot.
That morning I told my mom to be ready to meet me about 10 AM in front of the school. In second period I told the teacher that I was taking that I was feeling sick and that I felt feverish and thought that I might throw up. I had just finished gym class the period before I was still somewhat sweaty which provided the cover for the fever, a sweaty and flushed face is great cover when feigning illness.
The teacher wrote me a pass to the school nurse. I trudged down the hallway like I had the plague until I got to the nurses’ office. The nurse was a middle aged and a bit heavy set African American woman who was known for being wise to students feigning illness. I told her my story and still sweaty and flushed she took my temperature. I prayed….and thankfully I had a fever, only 99.1 but still a fever.
How I pulled that off I don’t know. The nurse looked at me and said “Young Man, do you still feel like you are going to throw up?” I nodded meekly, careful not to look her in the eye. She went to the sink and got a paper cup and filled it with warm water. She then said “You drink this; it will either settle your stomach or bring up whatever is down there.”
I had not expected such good fortune. I walked into the adjoining rest room and closed the door. I looked down and the toilet and looked at the cup up water and smiled. With a grotesque simulation of an episode of projectile vomiting I tossed the water into the toilet. I did this again and again for about 5 minutes. When I was done I flushed the toilet, rinsed my face off with warm water and looking even more ill than earlier.
When I got back the nurse was already on the phone with my mom. “Ma’am, your son is really sick, and throwing up. You need to come and get him now.” The time was 9:30 AM. She wrote a note which bought my freedom and told me that she “hoped that I felt better.” I thanked her in a most sincere way and I walked slowly to the main entrance on Center Street.
About 9:55 mom came pulling up to the school. “Steven, are you okay? The nurse said that you were really sick.”
I said coyly, “Mom, I told you that I would be ready to take my driver’s test, let’s go.” She gave me the most puzzled expression and said, “But she said that you were really sick.” I simply said, “I know mom, I told you that I would be here.” Years later I told her the details of how I pulled it off details which totally amazed her.
I guess that it’s like Ferris Bueller said: “The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. It’s a good non-specific symptom; I’m a big believer in it. A lot of people will tell you that a good phony fever is a dead lock, but, uh… you get a nervous mother, you could wind up in a doctor’s office. That’s worse than school. You fake a stomach cramp, and when you’re bent over, moaning and wailing, you lick your palms. It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.”
That glorious April morning I got my driver’s license and have have one ever since.
My problems in math began in 9th grade when someone decided to put the alphabet into math problems. I am sure this was the work of the Devil.
First period of 9th grade began in the hell of Mr. Nichley’s Algebra class. He was a throwback teacher. He looked and dressed like it was still 1959, gray suit, boring tie and fedora hat. He spoke a language that I did not understand and wrote strange equations on the chalkboard which had new symbols and blurred the boundaries between the alphabet and the Arabic numerals that I had learned so well.
Try as he might he could not answer my questions in a language that I understood and I was afraid of him.
He seemed to be more intent on enforcing his brand of discipline than teaching. I lost count of the number of students that he sent to the vice principle for minor infractions, including those done outside of school. Some of the girls came in one morning very tan in the middle of the fall after have sat under sun lamps the day before. This drew them blue slips.
If you talked in class and he was not in a cheery mood, which happened to be quite often, you got sent down. One day he sent 8 or 9 students to the Vice Principle and one day he sent me down, thankfully without the dreaded Blue Slip.
However late in the fall Nichley was diagnosed with cancer of some kind and we got a never ending stream of substitutes. Somehow I got through the year with Cs and escaped to high school where I was faced with yet another test of my now severely limited advanced mathematical skills. Nichley would survive to an advanced age dying just a few years ago in his late 80s surprising me because I figured that he must have died long ago as he looked like he was in his 70s in the 70s.
High school was different. Geometry made more sense than algebra because because I could see the diagrams.
However, despite understanding it better I found our teacher, Mrs. Rundel boring as hell, so boring that I began to cut class. Now Rundel’s class was 6th period, the last of the day. This meant that as long as I didn’t get caught the next stop was the bus and home…or early in the year football practice.
The first quarter I only made a few cuts by going to the library. The library was the perfect place, who would go to the library to cut class? That’s like running from God by going to church…wait I did that too. But the library staff assumed that I was supposed to be there as I nestled my body amid the history and reference sections. I got a “B” that quarter.
The next quarter I upped the ante. I was becoming more and more bored, and Rundel always seemed to buy any of my excuses, even those that could easily verified, like my counselor wanted to see me. Of course to verify she would have to go see the counselor as she didn’t have a phone in the classroom. I’m sure my studious and law abiding demeanor helped the charade. My absences multiplied and in the 2nd quarter I pulled a “C” and the 3rd quarter I cut more and dropped to a “C” minus. What was amazing was that I was missing huge amounts of class and still passing.
The true test was the 4th quarter, this time I cut class more often than not. I think I cut 23 out of about 45 class meetings, all in the library. The last day of the quarter I showed up. I had to take 7 tests that afternoon and I finished the quarter with a 60.5% average just enough to squeak by with a “D” minus. My mom was surprised at the grade; she had not gotten a notice mid quarter about substandard academic performance because I had intercepted it and forged her signature. She asked about the grade and I gave her my innocent, I had a “hard time with the class in the last few weeks of the quarter” story.
Mrs. Rundel retired that summer and I’m sure that I had to have something to do with it. Thank God she did not call my mom like Mr. Rooney did Mrs. Bueller: “He has missed an unacceptable number of school days. In the opinion of this educator, Ferris is not taking his academic growth seriously. Now I’ve spent my morning examining his records. If Ferris thinks that he can just coast through this month and still graduate, he is sorely mistaken. I have no reservations whatsoever about holding him back another year.”
My less than stellar experience in mathematics ended in 11th grade when I came up against the advanced algebra teacher, Mr. Nadeau. Nadeau announced that he planned on failing half of us. I realized I was definitely in the half to be failed. I knew that I had met my match and no amount of chicanery was going to get me through the way I got through the previous year.
I raised my hand, asked to be excused and went immediately to Mr. Brascessco my counselor. I told him that “I needed out of that class now.” I asked what was available and was enrolled in English Literature.
To this day I have never had to take another math class. I was smart enough to know that my strength was writing and research, obviously honed to a fine edge while cutting class in the library. In college I was a History major, and have Masters degrees in Theology and Military History. Since I now have an advanced degree in History, so when somebody asks “Are you a sociopath?” I Can honestly reply “no I studied history.”
Peace
Padre Steve+
The Inglorius Padre Steve's World 