Wednesday, March 13, 2002
|
Wednesday, March 13, 2002 |
|
Crime and punishment By BILLY MURPHEY Decades before the invention of the cell phone, the electronic remote control or the "staged, real-life drama," I was a naive sixth grader. Sixth grade was still part of elementary school back then. To be in a class of sixth graders in the year 1969 at Macedonia Elementary School meant that you would witness a classmate being spanked as often as you watched "Gilligan's Island." I was to endure many experiences in the sixth grade. I was to learn, first-handed, the cruel pain of a judicial system gone horribly wrong. But, more about that later. The sixth grade was a milestone year for me. I danced my first dance with a girl that year to the swinging vibes of Blood Sweat and Tears' "Spinning Wheel." It would be the first of many years that I lost the annual school spelling bee to Claudia Ripley believe it or not. Also, the last school day before our Christmas vacation we lost our beloved teacher to a car accident that left her drowning beneath the ice at Attison Bridge, only to find out 15 minutes later that she was simply late for school and it was all just a rumor gone wild. Sixth graders are like that. Their imaginations are much more ambitious than their grooming skills. Growing up in rural South Carolina during the third quarter of the 20th century would seem to be a Harper Lee, "To Kill a Mockingbird" kind of time. It wasn't. Though we had our share of Boo Radleys, there was no Atticus Finches when I had my run-in with the "law." I never spent a night in the Maycomb jail, but I still bear the pain of a man unjustly convicted of a crime he didn't commit. This is my story. I was in the Safety Patrol in the sixth grade, an office that an ambitious child such as myself would set as the holy grail of prepubescence. I literally dreamed of that white canvas patrol belt, its diagonal strap crossing my chest, exuding the power, authority and bravery of the best of the best sixth graders. I got my belt too. And I was proud. My pride would be short-lived, though, as I became the shame of my family and the sixth grade Safety Patrol. Long before senators and mayors and even presidents would hang their heads in shame for dishonoring their "office," I was laying the foundation. Professional wrestling was popular during my kid days and there was a maneuver or "hold" called the "Sleeper." One wrestler would get behind another and wrap his arms around the head of his opponent in a way that would put him to sleep. We had heard tell of two kids upstate trying this and one died. Thus the "move" was banned among all our students. Yes, even schools in the '60s were known to overact, swinging the pendulum beyond rationality, as if wrestler Wahoo McDaniel was the Satan of our times. The rest of my story is simple. In a moment of horseplay, I was performing a mock sleeper hold and someone reported it to a teacher. Faster than you could protest the Vietnam War, I was sent to the office. My crime was much more serious an offense than a good paddling could remedy. Instead I would have to endure a tribunal council at the hands of my Safety Patrol. A faux courtroom was set up and I faced a jury of my peers. With little fanfare and without a defense attorney, I was quickly convicted of my childhood crime and my patrol belt ripped from my body in a way that would make Benedict Arnold blush. If it was any consolation, I was put on probation and not thrown off the squad. Yet, I was still relieved of my considerable bus patrol duties. I learned early that fear and the law make for cruel, overreacting partners. Even looking back now, I accept my school's desire to keep others from making the awful mistake of killing during play-wrestling or, at least, their desire to just stay out of the papers for doing it. It was still one of the best years of my life. And I guess they made the papers after all. [Visit Billy Murphy on the Internet at http://ebilly.net.]
|
||