No, this is not a column about Tony Soprano “firing” one of his employees.
It’s about an ancient and honored practice of connecting the butt of a wayward young student with a large flat piece of wood. “The Enforcer.”
When I was at S.D. Lee from 65-68, J.V. Carr was the “judge” and Coach Youngblood was the “executioner.” As the sentence was pronounced, Mr. Carr would make a call to the gym. No mercy given.
Young students today (and their helicopter parents) would pass out at the thought of the type of discipline we were given when we deserved it. And there was no gentle tap on the rear.
I have no idea what the schools are like in Mississippi today, but in that day and time you didn’t see the barbaric behavior in classrooms like all over the entire country now. Screaming, fights, cussing out teachers, attacking teachers, open drug use… on and on with little reprisal.
My brother was in junior high during my high school time. Some angry out of control student threw a chair in the general direction of the teacher. Columbus P.D. came, whisked him away and he was never seen again in any school. Ever. It never happened again that anyone knows of.
But back at S.D. Lee, the instrument of pain was plucked from the office wall and you got hit HARD. The coach had arms larger than most peoples’ thighs and he swung like he was trying to hit a home run in the World Series.
When I was a senior, I rang up three checks on my “rap sheet.” Count One: Smoking in the bathroom. Count Two: Cutting class and hanging out at the dairy bar. Count Three: Smoking in the bathroom while being a public menace.
The third one involved my friend Don (he was there for all three) and myself sneaking to the second floor bathroom during a fire drill to smoke.
We were peeking out the window laughing at everyone else gathering down on the ground. Then Don says “Watch this!” He balled up a bunch of toilet paper, slightly wet it and set it on the open window sill and lit it on fire, which made for quite a bit of smoke wafting out the window. There was a buzz outside from the crowd, but we decided to tear out of the bathroom to escape.
We ran out to the hall and into the crossed arms of one James V. Carr, smiling like a Cheshire cat with two mice in its mouth.
When you were a senior, you could choose your fate: Either take your licks (in which case he wouldn’t call your parents) or get sent home for a one day suspension with a phone call to Mom and Dad.
I always took my licks like a man. Sort of. That was a much better option for me. If you knew my Dad you’d understand. And it was at least over fast.
Don took his first, bent over the big wood desk.
Now Don was a big beefy guy who later became a Columbus cop. I can still hear the sound in my mind of the wood connecting with the back of his pants. It was like WOOOOMP with a bit of a treble cracking sound.
It was terrifying, just to hear.
Then he turned around and his face was red with tears streaming down.
The blood in my scrawny 140 pound body turned to ice, and yes, it was all I had imagined. I still have PTSD.
One last note. Two years after graduation I was driving on Main Street with an expired inspection sticker when I passed a police car. The lights started swirling as he got behind me. I pulled over.
Getting out of the driver’s side was Don! Thank Gawd!
Then the passenger door opened… it was his training supervisor. Don had to pretend he didn’t know me. Sign the ticket.
Life can be unfair.
Thom Caraccio ([email protected]) is a retired musician and retired motion picture scenic artist living in West Palm Beach, Florida who hails from Columbus. He graduated from S.D. Lee High in 1968 and still considers Columbus his real hometown.
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