Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Boomer question (serious)

Ours had a device we called the "clicker". The nuns put the fear of God into you if they pointed that thing at you and thumbed the trigger that caused the audible click. You were a pariah and feared your parents would be told.

Ha, ha - Yeah this ^^^^^^^^^

Chinee calculator !!!

My Uncle was a teacher, similar time frame.

Some student punk giving him $hit, similar to above.

Walks back there, grabs arsehole by ear ring & tows his arse outta seat via phaggots ear ring !

Definitely couldn't do it today !

When I was in fourth grade my teacher was a miserable old bitch. She'd use a pointer to wack kids with. One day, for whatever reason, she grabbed this kid named Bobby by the arm and wacked the living tar out of the back of his legs until the pointer broke. Next day, Bobby wasn't in class. About ten in the morning, the principal shows up at the door to the classroom with Bobby and Bobby's mother. Bobby's wearing shorts and the back of his legs are all black/purple welts. We can see the whole thing going on through the glass door to the hallway. (This was '57 - '58 when schools were doing heroic things to handle the flood of boom babies and our "overflow" school was a converted hardware store in a rural strip mall. ) Bobby's mother was going up one side of that old bag and down the other. The teacher was trying to play innocent but Bobby's mother wasn't having any part of it. We were all hoping she'd pop the old bitch. She needed it. She was the worst damn teacher I ever had, absolutely cruel to kids in a number of ways.

I had a 6th grade teacher that was a prize. Great big old 300 pound sow...She drove a Plymouth and every day there were three of us that got to school early and we'd run to the door when she arrived to watch that Plymouth bounce up and down when she got out.... laugh our asses off. One day this girl, Carolyn, probably the most beautiful girl in our class and still a beauty today, did something that pissed off Friedabelle (that's what we called the teacher.) Well, old Friedabelle went waddling back to where Carolyn was sitting and whaled the hell out of her with a fly swatter until she was bawling. Friedabelle goes waddling back to the front of the room, looks back over her shoulder just in time to see Carolyn sticking her tongue out at her. Waddles back there as fast as she can waddle and whales the hell out of her again with the flyswatter.

Didn’t the Klan take care of bitches like that?

Pop got called into the principals office for my brother. Pop walks in and smacks my brother into tomorrow. The principal says “ Mr P your son wasn’t involved we made a mistake.”

Pop says ,” well that’s for something he got away with...”

Got my ass tore up with an oak desk back slat many a time but never wore a hat of any kind in school. Weren't the white thing to do.

g

We had a football coach at my high school who was a WWII Marine Corps vet wounded at Iwo Jima and decorated for it. Walked with a limp and would jokingly tell you he got his ass blown off---which was not entirely untrue. He wrote a book a few years ago titled Hell Yes, I'd do it Again! by T. Fred Harvey. The man was a member of our church, and his son and I were buds. He was revered as a coach, and when he decided to move on to another coaching position our football team defeated a cross town rival 46-0 in his final game at our school in 1969...it was an inspired asskicking if I ever saw one. The oddest thing is that when he went on to his next assignment in Littleton, Colorado and coached their team, one of those boys ended up at UT El Paso where my sister was attending classes and he is now my brother-in-law. We did not find out that Fred Harvey had been his coach in Colorado until more recently.

Anyway, I had a mechanical drawing class my freshman year of high school. Coach Harvey's History classroom was right across the corridor. I was at the teacher's desk one morning having a drawing checked, and I saw Coach Harvey out in the hallway with a student who had misbehaved in class. Coach had a baselball bat shaved flat on one side, and that was his paddle. The poor kid was bent over holding onto his ankles, and I saw Coach wind up with that paddle and deliver a home run that would have left Babe Ruth gawking. The kid never let out a whimper, but his eyes sure were shiny.

Too bad that kind of discipline is no longer allowed. We're the worse for it.

When I was just a sprout, I was shipped off to my grandmother’s place, age 4 I think, (little brother too, he was maybe 18 months) so my Mother who decided staying home with 6 kids and feeding 20K chickens while Pop plied his trade as a brick layer and concrete man was not for her long term. She decided to go to college...

The other four siblings were old enough to be rented out to the local truck farming Masters with a fair assurance they would live to get home and feed the pigs and milk after putting in their 12-14 hour day.

As an aside, Fall Break for us was “Cotton Picking”, local schools took off most of October to get that crop in.

Mama (Maternal Grandmother) was a retired one room school house teacher and along with her garden chores assigned each day, reading writing and ‘rithmatic were required as well as Bible reading at night. Chapters flew by, either her reading to you or you to her depending on age and expectations of the Old School Marm. (She graded your day on a calendar every night after Bible reading, good days denoted by a sun with beams shooting out, lessor by just a sun, Clouds could be added and especially bad days received the representation of a rear end, and the worst by added drops of excrement falling out, she was a literal person…)

By the time I started “real school” I was a little far advance for see Ted run, and as a result I was bored, much less trapped inside all dang day during the school year, a situation I was less than happy with. As a result I was not what one would classify as a “Model Student” in my single digit class years.

Of relevance, Mother had wanted to be a Chemist, and had actually gone to school on an assistanceship from Dow, who had a pretty big presence in Tennessee at the time. Having scored well on a placement test they chuckled at her for wanting to leave all them babies and try out a man’s field, figuring she would cut bait and cry her way home shortly, they were not prepared for her graduating top of her class, and, late 50’s just starting to allow women to do more than suckle brats and wash clothes somewhat but not really, they told her they could not give her a job as an Engineer (why, the men would just revolt) but they pay for her to go to George Peabody to get her teaching certificate so as to not “waste” the education…

Her first job was at Glennclift High School in Nashville, had an Aunt up there that was well placed as an Educator at Hume-Fogg, so Mom was hired right off after graduation, Pop loaded the rest of us up and headed for the City. I spent my first two years incarcerated there, but Pop did not like no place to hunt and he was no happier cooped up than me. Things got tense as she was making more than him and he was not a happy camper…Viet Nam was kicking off and the Milan Arsenal was starting to make boolets in a big way and Harvey Aluminum was the contractor in charge at the time. They paid a stipend to the system for each employee’s child in the school there which far outstripped the normal tax base, making the pay they could offer top teachers the envy of the State at the time. My maternal grandfather was the maintenance head man of the railroad there and he was able to get Pop a job at the Arsenal in building trades and got her one at the local school.

We were back in the country, halleluiah…

All that to get to the part that bears on this thread.

In Nashville they were rich enough to give each kid a math work book that was yours to write answers in. Looked just like the one they handed me first day of 3rd grade class in Reba Bell’s room. I proceeded to fill the whole thing out that day as I was again bored and they were farting around with stuff that did not hold my interest. She happened to trundle by and see me hen scratching in said tome, pulled me up, shook me like a terrier with a rat and hauled me down to J.P. Bradbury’s office. I was stunned and as nobody even knew my name as the new kid,I had no chance to explain myself. He made me grab my ankles and swatted me three times for defacing the book. Having grown up getting beat for infractions by Pop, who could in fact take the hide off a mule, I evidently did not quaver sufficiently to satisfy Lil’ Man’s desire to see me suffer, in fact, I think I might have said something to effect of "is that all?" The result of said encounter was that bastard breaking his paddle over my back, not my rump, and the whole thing taking place in the outer office for the benefit of K-8 to hear, and, the fact I had made my mind up to not cry regardless…he was beside himself and grabbed for his spare till Miss Reba stepped in between us and said that is enough.

Teachers calling teachers is a real thing folks, and by the time I got home, my Mother had been appraised and was just sure it was all my fault. I was about to get the obligatory second , much worse beating till she saw my back…She got on the phone to Miss Reba and got the play by play, not just the “your kid as a teacher’s kid really messed up” version and she held off till Pop got home for further conversation…oh boy!

I could hear the rise of voices when he came in dirty and tired from the day as my oldest sister was trying to dress the whelps on my back in the bathroom, the next thing I knew door burst open and Pop was there, snatched me around to look at the damage and out the door we went, him dragging me by the arm.

Into that old Chevy Pickup and down the road we went, the same look in his eye he had the day he came home and I had dropped the back tank cover of the just installed toilet and broke the bowl when I was 5 on a weekend visit home. The dairy down the road has run three phase power to a new set of coolers allowing us to hook up ‘lectricity which allowed a real well and running water for a flush toilet, I had no idea how the thing worked and was just curious. (as there was nothing to sit down on, it was just as well as it was several days before I could manage that) Seeing that same cloud on his face, I could only imagine I was going to be killed outright at the principal’s house as a sacrifice the New Job God.

I was extricated by the arm (for some reason parents of the day used that as a handle) and drug to the front door of the principal’s house, the supplication to open the door was not muted or gentle, in actuality the house shook. J.P. arrived in his undershirt, suit pants and newspaper in hand, glowering at being disturbed. Pop invited him out on the porch and pulled my shirt up and asked him “you do this?” J.P. stammered “He wrote in his book and then mocked me when I punished him!” Pop allowed that whipping my ass was all right, and if I needed it that is what God put it on kids for, but if he ever hit me on the back with a board again, he was going to write something on him he would never forget.

The law showed up later at our house and there was another heated conversation in the front room as all us kids huddled and waited. I was called out and the stripes shown to the Chief who allowed that had been too much, but that Pop could not be taking matters into his own hands, at which point Pop allowed as to how that would be fine, as long as he did not have to, nor did he think he would.

In that whole awful afternoon he never once spoke a word to me. I took far worse hidings from him over the years, but those I suppose I deserved, like the night of my16th birthday when I came home drunk about 4:30 AM. Cops got called for that one too, neighbor reported a murder in progress in our back yard, Pop was wearing my head out in, same Chief said “Damn Charles get off that boy!” Pop asked him if I was driving drunk and ran over his daughter, who was he going to sue, Chief backed up with a thoughtful look and left me with that old man. I worked all day making mud and toting heavyweight 12” concrete blocks, hard to do that with your eyes swole shut. Dang near died but never not once crossed his threshold drunk again.

From those sad days to the one where I laid his tired old bones in the ground a couple of years ago, I never doubted he loved me, and that when push came to shove he had my back. I feared him and respected him, and we do not have enough of that going around anymore. But, every time I saw that little putz of a principal, I remembered the day Pop was ready to go to the mat for me.

A more interesting/fitting question would be...Who on the CF deserves to be wearing one of those Dunce Hats?

I cant believe you guys put up with that schit growing up.

This thread smells like mimeograph ink.

Hahaha! If you were "lucky" you could get a job cranking the Ditto machine all afternoon......

I never needed a dunce cap it was quite obvious without one. GW

Great read, appreciate the post.

What the world is a holy card?

That what jehovahs give out ?


Or was that like a get out of trouble immunity card?

Geno, you shouldn’t punched Lil tommy
Teach, move on along. Here’s my holy card.

<smacks it down on the desk >

Was a teachers fave.
Even if they did light my azz up a few times early on.

Dad tells the story of the new history teacher who came to town. He was a Marine and always wore a big Marine Corp ring. If the guys got rowdy he’d turn his big ring upside down and smack the offender on the top of the head with it. Until one day when a repeat recipient of this treatment decided he’d had enough. He’d grown up in a rough household and could take care of himself, he gave the teacher fair warning that he wouldn’t do that again or he’d make him regret it. Teach smiled and rared back to pop him again when the guy came out of his seat and proceeded to whip the dog piss out of the teacher.

Teacher resigned immediately, they suspected out of embarrassment.

I got plenty of asswhippins at school, standard practice was 2X the number of swats at home as I earned at school. And I’d encourage the administration to keep my boy in check to a point. But actual physical beatings are over the line. Some of the stuff you guys describe getting from your teacher or principal would have me up at the school wearing somebody’s ass out if it happened to my kid.

I had an azzhole stepdad growing up.

Azz beatins at school were minor league.

Kinda ties back to that miss your moms funeral thread.
She married that POS and did nothing.

Ill skip it.