1984
I was not cool in high school. I was slightly cooler in the second high school I went to (My family moved to Germany between my sophomore and junior years) but I was never in the "In" Crowd. I ran with the band geeks and nebishy characters in the "Concepts in Advanced Lit" class, and even there I was a bit on the outs, because I was pretty clueless about what was going on most of the time. But cool or not, I was fairly happy with my set, and there was a moment, where I believe we created a delicate dance between prankishness and literature, that, if the story were remembered beyond just myself, I am sure would be much talked of.
Background: I graduated from high school in 1984. Remember that.
There was a particularly crotchety member of the faculty, and English and Humanities teacher, who was one of those teachers that is remembered with great reverence, but at the time you were in his class, caused nothing but humiliation. He had a gift for pouncing on your mistakes, and generally seemed to not care a whit about your self esteem. He knew his stuff however, and the majority of what I really understand about literature and humanities came from him. Mr. Minnette.
Minnette had a podium that he clung to as he preached, and this podium had been hijacked every fall as some sort of senior prank. It had been painted, placed on top of the waterfall in the schools garden, or just went missing. I don't know when I began to have a vision for the destiny of the podium for my senior year, but I knew the moment that I must take matters into my own hands and activate the plan. Minnette, much to everyone's shock, had gotten married the preceding spring, and his wife was expecting a baby - another shock. I heard some of "THE" seniors talking about a plan to remove said podium and paint it pink and blue. I was appalled. How could a class graduating in 1984, who had studied that same book with that teacher, who had seen him pound on that podium and heard him cry out "2+2=5 because I SAY it does, Numbskull and I can fail you so might makes right!" how could we do anything other than a 1984 theme. Please!
There were about seven of us who agreed to take on the challenge and a pre-emptive strike was deemed necessary. Within days my mother was enlisted as driver, and early the next Friday morning she drove myself and Martin, who lived in our neighborhood to the school. Martin was a key player because he was fluent in German, and it was thought that conversation might be needed to convince one of the German Putz-frau's (custodians) to unlock the classroom door. Indeed this was the case, and Martin prevailed. We scooted in, grabbed the podium, hustled it up the stairs to where the getaway station wagon was waiting (tailgate up.) We slid it in, covered it with a blanket, slammed the tailgate down, banged on the back just like in the movies, and she roared off. (Roared might be putting it a bit strongly. It was a military base and a school zone, so the speed limit was 25 miles a hour, but it was a cold morning, so there was a satisfying blast of white exhaust as she trundled away.
We masked our smiles throughout the day, though no pretense was necessary. We were too lame to be under suspicion. Minnette blustered and sulked as was appropriate. A rally time of noon the next day was set as the hour of action.
We met at my house. In the garage the painting was done. In the dining room stencils and photos were prepared. We thought our selves very clever, and frankly, we were. Oh that there was a way that I could be paid to be clever! I'd be so happy.
This is what it looked like:
The podium was painted a darkish blue. The front was white and we attached to it a giant head shot of Mr. Minnette. Underneath the picture it said "Big Brother is Watching You." On one side of the podium we stencilled black letters saying "2+2=5," on the other "Might Makes Right." The crowning touch was the part that would face him every morning. White with black letters: "Ignorance is Strength."
It kills me that I don't have a picture of it, and also that I didn't get to see his reaction, though it was reported that he thought it was the best thing ever done. None ever took credit for it that I know of, though our picture is in the yearbook where we are all standing around the dining room table holding black strips of paper over our eyes, so as to remain anonymous of course. The fact that the yearbook committee printed our names under the picture was a very minor setback.
It is a moment that I reflect upon with great pride.
Thank you.
Background: I graduated from high school in 1984. Remember that.
There was a particularly crotchety member of the faculty, and English and Humanities teacher, who was one of those teachers that is remembered with great reverence, but at the time you were in his class, caused nothing but humiliation. He had a gift for pouncing on your mistakes, and generally seemed to not care a whit about your self esteem. He knew his stuff however, and the majority of what I really understand about literature and humanities came from him. Mr. Minnette.
Minnette had a podium that he clung to as he preached, and this podium had been hijacked every fall as some sort of senior prank. It had been painted, placed on top of the waterfall in the schools garden, or just went missing. I don't know when I began to have a vision for the destiny of the podium for my senior year, but I knew the moment that I must take matters into my own hands and activate the plan. Minnette, much to everyone's shock, had gotten married the preceding spring, and his wife was expecting a baby - another shock. I heard some of "THE" seniors talking about a plan to remove said podium and paint it pink and blue. I was appalled. How could a class graduating in 1984, who had studied that same book with that teacher, who had seen him pound on that podium and heard him cry out "2+2=5 because I SAY it does, Numbskull and I can fail you so might makes right!" how could we do anything other than a 1984 theme. Please!
There were about seven of us who agreed to take on the challenge and a pre-emptive strike was deemed necessary. Within days my mother was enlisted as driver, and early the next Friday morning she drove myself and Martin, who lived in our neighborhood to the school. Martin was a key player because he was fluent in German, and it was thought that conversation might be needed to convince one of the German Putz-frau's (custodians) to unlock the classroom door. Indeed this was the case, and Martin prevailed. We scooted in, grabbed the podium, hustled it up the stairs to where the getaway station wagon was waiting (tailgate up.) We slid it in, covered it with a blanket, slammed the tailgate down, banged on the back just like in the movies, and she roared off. (Roared might be putting it a bit strongly. It was a military base and a school zone, so the speed limit was 25 miles a hour, but it was a cold morning, so there was a satisfying blast of white exhaust as she trundled away.
We masked our smiles throughout the day, though no pretense was necessary. We were too lame to be under suspicion. Minnette blustered and sulked as was appropriate. A rally time of noon the next day was set as the hour of action.
We met at my house. In the garage the painting was done. In the dining room stencils and photos were prepared. We thought our selves very clever, and frankly, we were. Oh that there was a way that I could be paid to be clever! I'd be so happy.
This is what it looked like:
The podium was painted a darkish blue. The front was white and we attached to it a giant head shot of Mr. Minnette. Underneath the picture it said "Big Brother is Watching You." On one side of the podium we stencilled black letters saying "2+2=5," on the other "Might Makes Right." The crowning touch was the part that would face him every morning. White with black letters: "Ignorance is Strength."
It kills me that I don't have a picture of it, and also that I didn't get to see his reaction, though it was reported that he thought it was the best thing ever done. None ever took credit for it that I know of, though our picture is in the yearbook where we are all standing around the dining room table holding black strips of paper over our eyes, so as to remain anonymous of course. The fact that the yearbook committee printed our names under the picture was a very minor setback.
It is a moment that I reflect upon with great pride.
Thank you.
posted by Violet Beauregarde | 2:48 PM
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