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Jeff Curtis ('69) - Alumni Sandstorm ~ 04/23/05 
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>>From: Jeff Curtis ('69)

III. Trash Talk

Jason Lee Elementary School, having been built in 1952, was one of the newer
institutions of preliminary learning in the city. In addition to large,
modern classrooms and expansive playfields, its cafeteria, its gymnasium and
its auditorium each had their own dedicated rooms. A lot of schools at the
time (and today for that matter) had "combo" or multi-purpose rooms that
served two or more of these functions. But good old Jason Lee had a big gym,
a massive cafeteria and a huge auditorium complete with tiered seating, a
stage, lighting and big plush velvet curtains. And it had a unique newness
to it that most other schools in town did not possess. Heck, it was year
younger than I was. Hmmmm....fact: I'm actually older than that school
building; fact: it was considered for demolition recently due to its
advanced age. Neither is a comforting thought.
But that was now and this is then. Back then the hallways sparkled and
seemed huge. I entered the building at the double doors on the southwest
corner, near the office. Lilly Peterson, the first principal of the school
and the only one I would know during my seven-year edu-thon, happened to be
standing behind the office counter, looked up as I entered and gave me a
motherly smile. She was like having a Mom away from home. A sweet, kindly,
silver-haired Mom. I figured that she could afford to be sweet and kindly
primarily due to the fact that she was not required to have frequent, direct
contact with a classfull of restless, hyper-active preteens all day, and
could, due to the license afforded her status, be highly selective about the
who, when and where such contact might take place. As such, she was a
relative breath of fresh air and provided cheery counterpoint to some of the
rank-and-file cadre of bitter, jaded, overstressed, scowling, drill sergeant
spinsters that seemed to bear a huge grudge at being forced to shoulder the
misfortune of having sole responsibility for educating me (and those of my
ilk) in their classrooms  for nine months of their precious lives.
 I retuned Mrs. Peterson's greeting with a valiant attempt at sincere smile
of my own then proceeded up the main hallway and turned down the last of
four wings that stretched off to the right. I was in the second classroom on
the left and as I rounded the corner I saw Robert, one of the larger kids in
the class, a regular gland case actually, facing the wall just to the right
of the doorway and pulling on something that seemed, based on the shaky
undulations he was going through, to be challenging him a bit.  Upon closer
inspection it became as obvious as it was understandable what exactly was
going on.
The wall, for a couple of feet to the right of the classroom door, was
deeper than standard in the hallways. About two feet deeper to be exact.
Additionally it had a foot tall swinging metal flap located precisely
centered on the deep-wall area about three feet off the ground on the
hallway side and another right across from it inside the classroom. The
space in between was occupied by a regular size garbage can and one could
deposit one's waste in there at one's convenience by pushing against the
swinging flaps from whichever side one happened to be on. In this case
Robert had convinced David (who was not in any way a gland case, more
accurately, he was built like a bag of tiny bird bones) to crawl through the
space between the flaps and above the garbage can as a "right of passage" or
with a,  "bet you're too scared", or a "we'll think you're very, very cool."
inducement or something of that nature.
It isn't too hard a thing to manage really. How do you get a ten-year-old
boy to crawl into a dark hole? Just show him one. At any rate David had
taken the bait. And once he had crawled through the opening, with
considerable difficulty and assistance, Jim, Robert's similarly burley
partner on this venture, had seized poor little David's wrists on the
classroom side while Robert had a secure purchase of his ankles. A grotesque
tug-o-war had ensued and David's screams of agony were echoing in the wide
spot between the walls, amplified by the metallic cylinder of the garbage
can inside. First, David's ankles and calves would be visible sticking out
of the hole (Robert leaning back and pulling mightily), and then the whole
lot of them, up to Robert's elbows would disappear into the void as Jim
responded in kind from the other side. I stood fascinated by the spectacle
before me as they went back and forth.  Partially stricken by the unusual
majesty of what was taking place before my very eyes, and partially thanking
my Lucky Charms that David had run into Robert and Jim several minutes
before I had turned the corner that morning. There but for the grace of God,
and probably a few minutes of dallying behind Westgate, go I.
Eventually the bigger boys, now both pulling with equal ferocity in opposite
directions, tired of their amusement (or realized that our teacher would be
along very shortly and would not react kindly to such goings-on) and simply
released little David's extremities, resulting in him flopping, unimpeded,
into the trash can.  Fortunately for him the trash had been emptied just the
evening before. However much he was covered in humiliation, he was at very
least, not being adhered to by old peanut butter and jelly crusts or banana
skins or anything.
The screaming stopped as David slowly raised the flap from the inside,
peeked out at his fellow students staring back at him from their desks. He
let the flap fall. We could hear banging and rumblings inside the wall as he
clambered around, then crawled painfully through the far-side flap out into
the hallway and scrambled to his feet just as our teacher rounded the corner
from the main hall.
"David.... get in that room and to your desk!" hollered Mr. Taylor, topping
off what had to be just a perfect beginning to a long day for David who was
sure that he must be at least an inch taller than he was ten minutes ago.
Whew! That was a close one. Everyone seemed to have skated this time. You
never knew when some antic like this would irk an instructor to the breaking
point and the whole class would be held accountable, resulting in a lost
recess for the morning or something equally unpleasant. A totally
Gestapo-esque punishment philosophy when you think about it, really. It was
certainly best that the reigning authorities knew as little as possible
about these types of goings-on.
As I made my way to my desk I spied, with overwhelming glee, the welcome
presence of the large, clunky 16 mm projector which had been set up in the
back of the middle aisle and two huge metal film cans sitting on the cart
shelf below it. Oh Joy! Oh Happy Day! We were going to watch a movie today
and it looked like a two-reeler.
To be continued...

-Jeff Curtis ('69)
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