MY INVENTIONS AND HIGH SCHOOL DAYS
In the meantime, after we got back home to Hamlin, Papa gradually
got into the trucking business. The truck replaced the horse in
our lives and after a few years we sold our horses. Then Papa
began to wonder if a truck would pull a trailer. He had a good
wagon he didn't need, so he thought to himself, "Why not make a
trailer out of a wagon?" He tried it and it worked. He cut the
tongue off short, hooked it behind his truck and hauled
cottonseed to the oil mill at Hamlin from gins in Hamlin and from
gins in small towns near Hamlin.
While Papa was experimenting with new innovations, I was doing
some experimenting on my own in my spare time. Before we got
electricity in our home, I had learned that the telephone company
was in the habit of throwing away dozens of old batteries from
time to time. Most of them were dead, others were sick and
dying, but a few of them still had a little life in them. By
connecting enough live ones together, I had enough current to
light flashlight bulbs.
I had brought back hundreds of feet of small insulated wire from
electric blasting caps at Gorman. I strung the wire all through
our house and had little night lights in all our rooms even
before we got city current. Although the lights were small, they
gave enough light to prevent most of the skinned shins which were
usually caused by vicious chairs that jumped out and tackled a
fellow as he made his way from his bed to the back door on his
nightly journeys to the outhouse.
I also had an Erector Set which had a little motor that ran off
the old batteries. It came in handy in a lot of my experiments.
We heated a part of our house with a wood-burning heater. I
didn't like to get up and build a fire on a cold morning. So I
got to thinking, "Why not make my old alarm clock light my fire?"
One night I rigged the thing up before I went to bed. The next
morning when the alarm went off, it started the motor that struck
the match that lighted the kerosene that lighted the kindling
that lighted the wood that heated the room.
Well, did it work? Sure it worked, cross my heart. But it
wasn't practical. I didn't expect it to be. It was more trouble
to rig all that stuff up the night before, than it was to build a
fire next morning and jump back into bed while the room warmed
up. I just wanted to see if I could do it, and I could.
Once I hooked a bunch of those old dry cells to an auto horn and
it really sounded loud in the house. Then one night while Joel
was away from home, I made a pressure switch and put it under his
mattress so that when he got into bed it would honk the horn
under his bed. He was out with his girl and I knew he'd come in
after we were all in bed, and more than likely all asleep. So I
began to have second thoughts about my little scheme. Papa and
Mama would be sure to frown on the idea of being waked up in the
middle of the night by what would seem to be an automobile coming
through our bedroom honking its horn. And I knew they would
frown on me for doing it. So I got cold feet and disconnected
the thing before Joel got home.
During the 1930's many farm families had battery lights in their
homes. They had "windchargers" to keep their batteries charged.
The windcharger was a wind-driven generator. The more the wind
blew the more it would keep their batteries charged. In 1921,
when I was fifteen years old, I made the first wind-driven
electric plant I ever saw or had ever heard of. I took a magneto
off an old car and changed the wiring in the inside so it would
put out an alternating current instead of a jump spark. It
wouldn't charge a battery but it would light a flashlight bulb
when the wind blew. I mounted the plant on top of our house
above my room. I left the light switched on all the time. It
burned day and night, if the wind blew. And the brightness of
the light was a good indication of how fast the wind was blowing.
After we got city current I did further experimenting and learned
more about electricity. For instance, I liked to get a little
shock now and then from the city current. And I learned that I
could touch the two wires just a wee bit with the tips of my
thumbs and fingers and enjoy a little electrical tingle. One day
I tied two metal handles onto the ends of two wires so I could
get a better hold and enjoy even more shock. I already knew that
a tighter grip on the handles would give me a stronger shock.
But what I didn't know was that when the shock reached a certain
degree of intensity, it would cause my hands to grip even harder,
and I found myself unable to open my hands to free myself. Lucky
for me, I had tied the wires onto the light fixture hanging in
the center of the room. I couldn't open my hands, but I dropped
to the floor and pulled the wires loose from the fixtures.
One day Albert found an old sewing machine motor in a trash pile
in an alley. I was glad when he decided to sell it to me. That
was another one of my dreams come true. I was ready to do more
research and playing. The motor did a lot of things for me, but
the thing that was worth the most to the family was the fly-
chaser I made out of it.
In those days we Johnsons still didn't have screens on our
windows and doors. We just barely had windows and doors.
Anyway, I took the electric motor and mounted it on a wooden box
with its shaft sticking up. Then I fastened a stick to the motor
shaft and a fringed cloth to the stick so that the fringe would
float three inches above the food on the dining table. When I
placed this monster in the middle of Mama's table, she was not at
all pleased.
You see, Mama remembered some of my earlier gadgets, one of which
had blown up all over her kitchen stove, cabinet, walls and
floor. Some of it even hit the ceiling. Nevertheless, by the
time Mama became brave enough to come near her dining table on
this particular day--the day of the fly-chaser--I had the motor
in the middle of the dining table, sending the fringed cloth
round and round, shooing all the flies away. It proved to be a
lifesaver. No fly ever lighted within its magic circle. Mama
could place all the food on the table and feel sure that no fly
would ever light on any of it.
After Mama realized the value of this latest invention, she got
back on speaking terms with me. And I sort of guessed she might
be happy in the thought that her little ugly duckling might just
make his mark in the world after all .
Oh yes, I mentioned the blow-up in Mama's kitchen. That was
quite a different story. I had gotten this toy steam engine for
Christmas. To make it run I had to fill the boiler with water,
light the alcohol burner under it, and then wait ten minutes for
the steam to make the wheels start turning. Then about two
minutes later the boiler was dry of water and the whole operation
had to be done over. That amounted to too much waiting and not
enough wheel turning to suit me.
I reasoned that a larger boiler wouldn't have to be filled so
often, and there would be more action each time I heated it. So
I put a valve stem from an inner tube in the lid of a gallon
syrup bucket. And I ran a small rubber hose from the valve stem
to a little pipe on the boiler of the toy steam engine. Next I
filled the bucket with water and placed it on Mama's wood
cookstove and waited--and waited and waited.
And that's when it happened. It blew up. The lid hit the
ceiling, and water hit the four walls and everything in the
kitchen. I was glad Mama wasn't in the kitchen. The noise alone
was enough to scare her half out of her mind, and it brought her
running in a hurry. And now let us have a moment of silence
while you imagine what Mama said to me. Of course I was sorry it
happened. The kitchen might never be the same again. And I was
sorry to have scared her. But mostly I was afraid she wouldn't
let me do experiments in her kitchen again.
After the steam cleared out of the kitchen, Mama allowed me to
return to the scene just long enough to remove the "thing" to my
own room. Then I found that the little rubber tube was stopped
up. Steam couldn't get through it.
Oh well, air seemed to be much safer and faster anyhow. So I
borrowed Papa's tire pump and pumped air into the little toy
boiler. That worked just fine. One stroke of the pump and the
wheels started turning. Only trouble was, I had borrowed the
tire pump without asking, and the next time Papa needed it, it
was out of place and he couldn't find it. Again I was in the
doghouse.
Electricity seemed to be in my life to stay. At age sixteen I
owned my first electric train. It was not the steam-locomotive
type, but the true original electric-type engine. I bought the
train myself and it proved to be a lot of fun. By that time I
had known the truth about Santa for a couple of years and I
figured he wouldn't be bringing me one. So I started saving up
my nickels and dimes and bought my own train. A year or so later
I bought my first and only bicycle. It lasted me until I bought
my first car.
By that time I had begun to believe a fellow could do about
anything he set his mind to. So I gave a kid a dollar for an old
one-cylinder gasoline engine with its carburetor missing. I knew
I couldn't buy a carburetor for it, but I was confident enough,
or foolish enough to believe I could make the thing run without
one. I was right; I could and I did. That is, I made it run
without a real factory-built carburetor. The one I gave it was a
small tin can stuffed with rags that were saturated in gasoline.
The vapor from the can was the gas that it ran on.
I made the little engine pull Mama's washing machine--which she
was in the habit of making me pull. Of course it was more work
keeping the engine running than it would have been just simply
running the washer by hand. But it was more fun my way. And
besides, I liked to do things that others couldn't do,--things
some mechanics said couldn't be done.
When I got hold of an extra dime now and then, which was not
needed for something else, I would go see a movie. But my slow
reading caused me to miss part of the story during the old silent
movie days. So I began dreaming of the time when we would be
able to go to a movie and listen to the stars talk and sing. I
worked the whole thing out and told my parents and some of my
friends just how it would be done and how the mechanism would be
set up. Some of them listened, but some of them walked away,
slowly wagging their heads as if to say, "Poor Clarence, he
finally flipped his flopper. He has gone plum crazy."
Three years later they came out with a stupid phonograph and
tried to keep the talking on the record correlated with the
picture on the screen. It was four years after I invented the
talking picture that they finally put the sound on the movie film
where I had put it in the first place.
I was out front on automobile generators too. In the early
1920's generators were dealing us plenty of trouble. Their
commutators were the biggest headaches. By 1924 I had invented a
direct-current generator without a commutator but with two
collector rings instead. I even applied for a patent on my
invention. But I ran out of money and had to give it up. Then
39 years later, in 1963, most all American-built cars came out
with my generator on them. They are now called alternators. Of
course my generator was not exactly like the alternator. We
didn't have diodes in 1924. My generator didn't need diodes.
Along with my experimenting, I was reading mechanics magazines
and in one of them I saw the International Correspondence School
advertisement and enrolled in an electrical engineering course.
I learned a lot from it but I was not financially able to buy all
the things I needed to do the experiments which would have helped
me learn and understand much more. Furthermore, there was not
another kid in town with whom I could work and study, nor who was
interested in learning about electricity with me. So, electrical
engineering lost much of its charm and glamour. However, during
my high school days, my classmates and teachers nicknamed me
"Edison." I kept the stage lights in repair for all events. And
when an office light needed attention, they sent for me. They
never required me to buy a ticket to any school activity. I kept
the lights working all over the building. I carried a key to the
building and came and went as I pleased, day and night.
Along with my other activities, I have studied and practiced a
little bit of character reading. Since my teens I have had this
thing about being somewhat able to read a person's character on
sight--at least I liked to try. When I was 18 I was visiting a
kid in another town and he showed me a picture of his high school
class, 32 kids. I looked at the picture, then I pointed to one
girl and told my friend that she was the top student in his class
in English. My friend was surprised but he admitted that I was
correct. He became even more surprised when I picked the best
math student, the most mischievous boy, the one who liked to play
good clean practical jokes, the one who was the most active in
the art of deceit designed to really hurt others, the best
football player, best all-round athlete, and several others.
After I had finished, the boy told me I got about 20 of them just
right, ten partially right, and two absolutely wrong. Oh well,
you can't win them all.
I have been in business off and on many years in my life and I
can't remember having lost a penny on a cold check or a bad debt.
I have a way of trusting people that I judge to be okay and it
seems that they want to prove that I have not misjudged them.
This ability to judge rightly has helped me and others many
times. One day a stranger was driving through Hamlin on his way
to Bronte where he was to go to work on a ranch. He was out of
money. I bought him five gallons of gas and a quart of oil.
Three days later I received the money from him by mail.
Why did I trust the stranger? I don't know. He looked okay. He
acted okay. He didn't ask for credit nor any other favor.
Instead, he asked if he might camp out behind our service station
for three or four days. My boss told him it was all right. Then
when he asked to borrow a pencil and a piece of paper, I learned
he was planning to write his employer a letter and ask him to
send a couple of dollars for gas and oil so he could finish his
trip. I bought him the gas and oil and told him to get going and
get on the job. Then he offered to leave his saddle as security.
I told him I didn't need security, "Just send me the money when
you get it." And he did.
I've always been that way about my money. I would rather see my
money used for home missions than for foreign missions. I like
to see results. In the case of foreign missions, I never know
how my money is being handled nor what it does for people. To be
sure, this man repaid me, but if he had not, I would still prefer
home missionary work. That may not be the right attitude, but
it's the way I feel.
This new-fangled city living didn't take all the country out of
us boys right away. We often went hiking along the creek that
runs through the south end of Hamlin. One day we slipped out of
our clothes and were swimming in the Orient Lake when a group of
women and little kids came to fish in the lake. Boy, I thought
we were in trouble for sure this time. But Joel came to the
rescue. He always was a smooth talker, and this time it paid off
for all of us. He yelled out to them that we were swimming
without our swim suits, and if they would go back around the
bend, we would be out in about three minutes and then they could
come on and fish. They did and all was well.
Soon after we moved to Hamlin we owned an old Dodge car, about a
1918 model. It was probably the one we drove to Gorman, although
we did own two other Dodges through the years. Anyway, this old
car had so much play in the gears and the differential and the
axles that you could let up slowly on the clutch, and when all
the slack finally wound out of all the gears, the car would leap
forward. And if the motor didn't die, you were off and going.
Our car shed opened to the alley. To get into the shed we had to
drive up the alley, circle into the shed and stop the car just
before it hit a solid board wall. At least it was a board wall,
and we had thought it was solid until Albert proved differently.
Anyhow, the wall separated the car from the back yard, which, in
turn, connected with the back door of Mama's kitchen. Now, this
back yard had within its boundaries a number of clotheslines, a
storm cellar and a couple of huge mulberry trees, under which a
dozen or so old laying hens reclined in shaded pools of dust and
ashes while off duty from producing the better half of many
nourishing breakfasts for a bunch of growing kids.
Well, on this particular day, Albert had some reason for wanting
to go some place in that old Dodge car. It didn't have a
starter; we had to crank it. Albert, being just a small boy, was
not big enough to stand out in front of the bumper of the car
while he applied the necessary heave and pull to roll the motor
over compression. So, as usual, he was standing between the
front bumper and the car when things began to happen. The old
car was easy to crank. Usually just once over and the engine
would start.
And so it was this time--once over and wham! Albert had
forgotten to shift it out of low gear. The motor had gotten up
pretty good speed by the time all the gears took up the slack and
the hind wheels began to push forward. It was a good thing
Albert was too little to stand in front of the bumper, it would
have crushed both his legs as it went about the business of
pushing the entire end out of the shed. It's a fact. The bottom
of the wall held in place while all the nails pulled out along
the top of the wall. The car simply laid that big solid wall
flat in the back yard and then climbed on top of it. It was
headed right for the storm cellar when Albert switched off the
key.
Now you think I'm fibbing. You wonder, "How did Albert get there
to switch off the motor?" It wasn't easy. It took a little
agility and a lot of speed, and Albert proved he had plenty of
both. When the car began going forward Albert went down and
under it. Then in the split-second it took the car to demolish
the end of the garage, Albert seized the opportunity to shoot out
from under one side of the car, behind the front wheel and before
the back wheel got him. Then he leaped up and jumped into the
car and stopped it on top of one end of the garage, a couple of
clothes line poles, and one very dead old hen. The hen, of
course, was a welcome sight on the dining table at our next meal.
And Albert was also a welcome sight, sitting there eating his
share of the old hen, without a scratch on him.
When we moved to Hamlin the school authorities wanted to put us
all back a grade or two. We didn't thrill to that idea, so Earl
drove the Old Reo car and we went to Wise Chapel School a-year-
and-a-half. It was only five miles and our teacher rode with us
and helped pay expenses.
But this country schooling couldn't go on forever. So when we
entered Hamlin school I was almost sixteen and they put me back
to the seventh grade. And then at Christmas time our teacher got
married and quit teaching. She was replaced by a man teacher who
was not altogether outstanding in his knowledge of math. I
worked some math problems he couldn't work and I taught our class
at times when the problems were too difficult for him. He seemed
to resent this and I am sure it was my fault. I was not well-
versed in the art of diplomacy and I didn't know how to go beyond
his ability without hurting his pride.
As a result, at the end of that year I learned that I was third
in my class. We all felt sure a certain little girl would be
first. I thought I would be second. But instead, a boy named
Jack was salutatorian that year. I didn't really think any more
about the matter until the next year when I learned, quite by
accident, that the teacher had given the honor to Jack which was
rightfully mine. I had made higher grades than he did. No, I
didn't hate the teacher for having done that to me, nor did I
like him for it. I reasoned that he had just made an honest
mistake in figuring our grades. As I said, he was not
outstanding in math.
There was only one high school teacher I didn't especially like.
She taught Latin. The rule of the school was that an excused
absence was not to lower a student's grade. Rather, his grade
was to be averaged according to those days he was present, and
the exam scores. I constantly made "A" when I was in class in
spite of the fact that I missed a lot of classes while on
business ventures for our class and for the school. I thought,
and some other teachers thought that, if I could make "A in class
and on tests, while attending class only three-fourths of the
time, I ought to have an "A" for the course. Instead, I got a
"C". Except for that one course, I made B-plus and better
throughout my high school years. It wasn't all that bad though,
having a "C" in Latin. I knew I was an "A" student and my
teacher knew I was an "A" student; I was just a little
disappointed not to have an "A" on my report card so my family
would know I was an "A" student.
Since we had missed so much schooling because of poverty and
because of cotton harvest and because of having attended small
country schools, naturally we were all put back a grade or two
when we entered Hamlin school. I wasn't the only one. Joel says
he was put back a grade so many times, he went through one grade
three times making "As" every time. In my Freshman year, I was
about the age of many of the Juniors. And because of a lack of
material possessions, I found schooling less alluring than it
might have been.
So, about the last of November I dropped out of high school and
took a job with West Texas Utilities Co. The job title was
"Night Engineer" and the salary was more than a lot of grown men
made. Regardless of the title that went with my job, what I
really did was make ice at the ice plant at night. Anyway, two
years later, with my savings to back me up, I quit my job and
reentered Hamlin High School, about the last of November.
By that late date I was a Freshman at age eighteen, finishing my
freshman year at nineteen. However, I was not looked down upon,
even by the so-called elite. The most respected Seniors welcomed
me into their school activities. But I realized my social
retardation and stood apart, by my own choice, in certain
extracurricular activities.
Even after starting school three months late that fall, I still
made good grades and picked up four credits, which was normal.
The following summer I did some extra studying, wrote some book
reports, took tests on the work, and made three extra credits.
That made seven; I needed nine more to graduate. Once in awhile
a good strong student was allowed to take five subjects. My
record convinced the teachers that I could do even more than
five. So, with their help, we persuaded the superintendent to
let me take seven subjects that second year. B-plus was the
lowest grade I made that year, despite the extra load. We tried
to get the superintendent to let me take all nine, but he
refused. I could have made it easily, but we couldn't get his
permission to let me try it.
By the end of my second year I was 21 and had 14 credits. I
needed two more. I enrolled again that fall, but before I got my
books, Papa told me he needed another truck driver and couldn't
afford to hire one and keep me in school. So I quit school and
drove a truck for him.
While I was in school I was not thought of as a "book-worm,"
probably because I didn't spend all that much time studying. I
lettered in football that second year. I also took first place
in the half-mile run, shot put, discus throwing, and something
else. Would you believe it: I've forgotten what the fourth
event was. Along with athletics, I also took first place in
declamation.
While I was a Freshman, I was assistant editor of our school
paper which rated second in the state. With all four grades
competing in writing "Class yell," "Class song," and designing
"Class pennant," I wrote the song which won first place and
designed the pennant that won first place.
We had another contest to see which class could raise the most
money to pay on the doctor bill for one of our football players.
We Freshmen won that contest.
In my Junior year we had a contest to determine which class could
publish the best edition of our school paper. When it came our
turn, we Juniors won first place and sold three times as many
papers as any other class. I also painted all the posters for
advertising games, plays, and other school activities. And then
I placed them in store windows all over town. I was allowed to
take a student with me on these poster ventures. Only one
requirement, he had to have an "A" rating in his grades. And I
must say, looking back from where I sit today, I can easily see
how my stupidity stood out in those days; I always chose boys to
go with me.
We Juniors put on a play which we presented in Hamlin and in
other towns nearby. We first put the play on in Hamlin at the
picture show as a dress rehearsal and we charged admission. Then
we presented it again a few weeks later at the same theatre and
played to a full house. Then we played it at the same place a
third time by popular request. The play went over so well in
Hamlin, we decided to present it in other towns around. I know
we played it in Rotan and I believe the other town was Anson.
The name of the play was "Clarence," and I played the title role.
You may remember, Booth Tarkington was the author.
Naturally, all this publicity didn't hide me from public view. I
was well known around the little town of 2,500. During that time
I also worked in garages, filling stations, grocery stores, tire
shops, and welding shops, besides driving a truck now and then
when I was needed.
I painted all the posters for advertising the play which we put
on in Hamlin and other towns around. Usually four of us Juniors
went to other towns to place them in store windows. We didn't go
after school; we went during school hours, and only straight "A"
students could go.
One day four of us were delivering posters to Rotan--two boys and
two girls. The other boy was driving and I was in the back seat
with one of the girls. She was not "my" girl--just a nice
respectable school girl. I don't think I even had a girl to call
my own, or maybe I did. If I had one, it was one of the
teachers, which was strictly against board rules, so we had to
keep it secret. No student was allowed to date a teacher. Well
anyway, there we were in the back seat of the car, me socially
handicapped, and they having all kinds of fun teasing me about
being so timid and bashful. They got a big kick out of watching
the girl edge over toward me and seeing me slowly scoot away from
her. I was just being cautious. How was I to know what a city
girl might do to a country boy like me.
Our school athletic club was always short of money for uniforms,
balls, bats, and other equipment. To help make money for the
club, we sold candy in one hallway at high school. I did all the
buying, keeping the records, and half the selling. Another
regular job for me was making whitewash and marking off the
football and baseball fields.
Now you can begin to see why I didn't have to ask permission to
go and come when I needed to. It would have been a waste of
time. And I just didn't have all that much time to waste. I was
busy. They granted me the privilege of going without asking and
I was careful not to abuse that privilege. They usually knew
where I was and which student I had picked to go with me. You
may also be getting the idea that I could have carried nine
subjects that Junior year. I did all these extras, took seven
full courses, and made "B-plus" and "A" all the way.
By this time I had begun to learn a little diplomacy which I had
lacked in the seventh grade. During my Freshman year--my second
one, that is--Miss Packwood was in her first year of teaching.
In her history class I sat on the front row right by her desk.
Four boys sat in four seats on the back row and gave her a rough
time, cutting up and constantly disrupting the class. They got
so bad that she actually cried at times. The boys didn't know it
but I did. She tried hard to hide her frustration and emotions.
But she was at a loss to know what she should do next.
I caught those four boys out at the toilet one day and had a
diplomatic conference with them. I placed myself in the group of
five who were dealing our teacher misery. I pleaded to them
concerning our responsibility to her. "How would we like for
someone to do to our sister what we are doing to this girl?"
Well sir, the results of that little conference surprised even
me. Not a single one of those boys bothered that teacher another
time the rest of that year. I never told Miss Packwood what had
taken place, nor did I ever mention it again to the boys.
Although I had not been guilty of any of the wrongdoings, in my
talk with the boys, I included myself as one of them and shared
the blame in order that they might listen to my argument. I was
proud of the boys for listening to me and I was proud of me for
having been able to influence them, and help a friend who was in
trouble.
The last year Coach Hinton was at Hamlin High, Superintendent
Greene asked him to come two weeks before school started and get
the football boys into training. Coach asked about pay for the
two weeks. Mr. Greene seemed to think the board would be glad to
pay him for his time. Then he told Mr. Hinton, "If they will not
pay you, you can take your pay out of the athletic fund." Mr.
Hinton came early and kept his part of the bargain.
As it turned out, the board didn't pay for the two weeks. Mr.
Hinton waited and waited and they still didn't pay. He was too
much of a gentleman to ask for the money. He figured perhaps
they would pay him at the end of the school year, but they
didn't. So he took his pay out of the athletic fund as Mr.
Greene suggested. And at that point some of his so-called "best
friends" turned against him, telling that he stole the money and
left town. It simply wasn't true. I knew about Mr. Greene's
promise. There was never any reason for anyone to doubt Mr.
Hinton's honesty. He was never anything less than a gentleman.
You may have the idea that I am telling you I didn't get into
trouble at school. That's just not true. However, I didn't
deliberately plan it. Most of my trouble was accidental. For
instance, during the Christmas holidays one year, workmen
revarnished the desks in the study hall. When school reopened,
the varnish was dry, but you know how fresh varnish is, even
after it is dry. When you sit on it for an hour your pants sort
of cling to it. Well, as I have told you, we were a poor family,
and I had the pants to prove it. My pants were old and thin, but
there were no holes in them when I sat down. And there was only
one hole when I got up an hour later--a big one. I first
suspected something was wrong when I felt a breeze. I knew it
for sure when I looked down and saw the seat of my pants still
clinging to the new varnish.
Needless to say, that was another time I didn't ask for
permission to leave the building. I backed out the door, hurried
down the stairway and ran, trying not to turn my back on anyone
all the way home.
While I was a Freshman in high school, one of my jobs at home was
to hitch up a team of horses each day after school, drive seven
miles to the Neinda gin, load a wagon with cottonseed, drive back
home and leave it for Papa to unload the next day. But then one
day I didn't make my regular trip.
In school that afternoon our teacher was called from the room for
a long-distance phone call. She was gone a long time, and the
longer she stayed away the worse things got in our room. Long
before she returned kids were throwing erasers, throwing books,
running around the room, fighting, and even running out one door,
down the hall, and back into the room through another door.
When the teacher returned, she caught them in the act. I say
"them" because I made it a point not to do anything contrary to
rules. I had special privileges I didn't want to lose. I wanted
to be trusted. As a matter of fact, there were two of us who did
nothing wrong--Mable Hudson and I. But the teacher didn't know
that. She told us she was ashamed of everyone of us. And she
kept us all in an hour after school.
That was the cause of my missing my Neinda trip and that was why
Papa was not at all happy. In fact he was very unhappy. He
asked why I was late. I told him I had to stay in. He asked
what I had done to have to stay in. I told him, "Nothing."
He was sure I was lying, because, he said, "Teachers don't keep
kids in for nothing." Then he added, "I thought I had at least
one boy I could trust to behave and tell the truth."
It was too late to haul cottonseed that day. I felt I had let
the family down, but through no fault of my own. Or maybe it was
my fault. Maybe I should have explained to the teacher, but I
didn't. Nor did I explain further to Papa. He didn't seem to be
in the mood for further talk from me.
My teachers knew me pretty well. A little explaining might have
done the trick. They knew I had never lied to them. On the
other hand, if I had explained to the teacher, and if she had not
kept me in, I would have been called "teacher's pet" and she
might have wound up being hated by my classmates. I found myself
in an awkward situation where I didn't know what to do nor what
to say. So I kept quiet and found myself being punished by the
ones who meant the most to me, my teacher and my father.
Did I turn against them because they told me they were ashamed of
me? Certainly not. I understood how it looked to them. They
didn't ask any further questions, and I offered no further
explanation. They still trusted me and I trusted them. And I
didn't lose any of my special privileges at home or at school.
Throughout my school years, the first day of April was a special
day for school kids. The afternoon of April Fools' Day was a
period for students to have a good time. If the teachers would
not allow a fun-party that afternoon, some of the pupils, if not
all of them, would run away from school. This was customary, and
if most of the kids ran away, it was generally understood that
there would be little or no punishment.
I was only about nine years old the first time I ran away from
school on April Fools' Day. Three of us boys slipped away at
noon and soon after one-o'clock we saw that we were alone. We
also knew we couldn't return to school because we would be
punished for being late for our one-o'clock class.
We realized we were in trouble and would have to try to think of
a way out. But first of all, we had to get farther away from the
schoolhouse so the teacher wouldn't be able to find us with a
search party. In fact, we ran so far away and spent such a
miserable afternoon that we failed to see the other students
going home from school. We had planned to join them and all
arrive home at the same time. And after that--well, that was as
far as a nine-year-old could plan. After that I had no idea how
any good thing could happen to me.
But we were caught in our own trap. Since it was April Fools'
afternoon, the teachers turned out school early. The other kids
got home an hour earlier than usual. And what I got when I got
home was no surprise. My biggest surprise was that I didn't get
a whipping. Of course I got a good talking-to, but no whipping.
That little experience taught me to be better organized next time
before attempting mutiny in any form.
I believe the next time I ran away from school on April Fools'
Day was when I was a Freshman in Hamlin High School. Now, it was
such a long time ago I know I will not get every little detail
exactly right, but for all practical purposes and intent, it
happened about like this. We were well organized, to say the
least.
It was April Fool's Day, one o'clock in the afternoon. We
students were all seated in the study hall, each at his regularly
assigned desk. In the parking lot out front were two trucks and
a number of automobiles, all parked orderly and aimed in the
direction of the Double Mountain River.
The entire student body had been warned that the school board
would not tolerate running away on the first of April. Those who
did would have all their grades lowered by ten points.
When the one o'clock bell rang, the study hall teacher said,
"Rise and pass to your classes."
We stood up and passed all right, but not to our classrooms. We
marched out of the study hall and downstairs, taking a select
group of teachers with us. By the time the superintendent
realized what was happening, we were all loaded into our vehicles
and heading for a sandy playground in the channel of the river.
The kidnapped teachers gave us very little trouble. They liked
it.
We were told later that three girls showed up for class in one
room. Their teacher asked, "What are you girls doing here?"
They told her they didn't want their grades to be lowered ten
points.
And the teacher told them, "No one is going to knock ten points
off your grades. Get on out from here and have a good time."
We were not only organized in making our get-away, we had also
arranged for a little bit of entertainment by surprise. Three of
us boys had made a man-size straw dummy, and while all the other
students and teachers were playing in the sand down in the river,
we boys secretly took our dummy up on a high cliff across the
river, and there on the edge of that cliff, in plain view of the
spectators below, Virgil Davis and I got into an argument which
ended in a fight.
Before we took the straw dummy up on the cliff, we arranged for
one boy to remain in the crowd below to call attention to our
fight up on the cliff. We boxed and pushed and shoved and rolled
and tumbled. Then we rolled behind some bushes to where we had
the dummy hidden. And when I came back into view, I was
wrestling the dummy instead of Virgil. When we rolled near the
edge of the cliff, we struggled to our feet and I knocked him
over the edge and he fell to the river below.
This was no big deal but it was different, and it brought a few
screams from the gallery below.
By the first day of April the following year, the school board
had decided that this April Fool thing had gone too far, and they
convinced us kids that they meant business. We knew there was no
way we could pull another stunt like we pulled the year before
and get away with it. We accepted the new ruling and had no
intention of causing any trouble.
However, just before the lunch hour that day I was talking with
some boys and jokingly said, "We'd better not run away but when
they tell us to pass to classes, we could just remain seated." I
hadn't really meant it and we didn't plan action. If I had meant
it, I would have suggested that we remain seated only a minute or
less, just to demonstrate student solidarity, and that not in
defiance, but rather in fun.
But I underestimated the effects of my little suggestion and the
solidarity of the student body. When one o'clock came and the
teacher said, "Rise and pass to your classes," not one student
got up. I was surprised. Something was happening here beyond
any suggestion I had made.
Other teachers got together, whispered a few words in their
huddle and one of them gave the order again, but still no one
made a move. Then Mr. Hinton came out, spoke a few words of
advice to us and asked us to go to our classes. This time three
girls got up and went to class, perhaps the same three who showed
up for class the year before.
By this time I had begun to feel guilty and uneasy. I didn't
know who had planned all this nor whether it was the result of my
suggestion, but I knew I could be held responsible because of
what I had said. The thing had gotten out of hand and someone
could get hurt. I knew that someone could be me. This just
wasn't right, but I didn't want to be the one to spoil something
someone else had planned, if indeed someone else had planned it,
so I went along with the scheme.
Next, Mr. Greene called a student into his office. I don't
remember who the student was, but he soon came back and took his
seat with the rest of us. And again, another teacher asked us to
respond, but we didn't.
Then Mr. Greene sent for me, and at that moment I guess I felt
smaller than I had ever felt in my life. I think I could have
crawled through the knothole in our back porch, through which I
put so many calomel tablets when I was a little kid. I thought
to myself, "This time they have caught me, I'm guilty, I'll be
kicked out of school, and I have no idea how severely Papa will
punish me this time."
But my worry had not been necessary. I learned right away that
Mr. Greene and the teachers were not looking for someone to blame
for this unpleasant incident, but rather, they were looking for a
leader--a Moses, mind you, to lead these students out of the
study hall and into the classrooms, thereby keeping us all out of
serious trouble.
I went back and took my seat in the study hall. Again one of the
teachers said, "Rise and pass to your classes."
And again no one moved. Then, about two seconds later, I stood
up and said, "Let's all rise and go to our classes," and every
student obeyed.
They just needed a leader, and I was there at the right time.
They might not have followed me ten minutes earlier. And another
thing they were waiting for was one of their own to lead them, so
they would not have to yield to authority.