Spring Break

Our elementary school bus driver, Mr. Holcomb, sported a salt and pepper handle-bar mustache that curled so far up on the ends, it almost touched the top of his ears. His bushy, gray eyebrows stuck straight out like little fingers from his forehead and shot up whenever he got excited. Other than the end of school, March 31st was the day his eyebrows shot up the most. It was the start of spring break, and Mister Holcomb knew the perfect way to start the week-long vacation.

Each year, the most excited person on the yellow bus the Friday before spring break wasn’t Goofy Steve. He was just goofy. It wasn’t Bubba Hanks; he was the hungriest. It wasn’t Thomas, Jim Jeffcoat, Bugger, or even Blabber Mouth Betsy.

With three pulls on the gold chain attached to the old train whistle he mounted on top of the school bus at each bus stop, it was clear that the most excited person on Mr. Holcomb’s school bus was Mr. Holcomb.

Mr. Holcomb was a retired train conductor from England. After 40 years on the trains, he followed his only daughter to the States and was one of the first to build a house on Flamingo Street.

He picked out the lot closest to the train tracks that separated Flamingo Street from the Duke of Gloucester. He said the sound of the train in his backyard reminded him of home. Whenever we went over to his house to bend pennies on the tracks, the train whistle just reminded me of his school bus.

Mr. Holcomb had strict rules for everyone to follow if they wanted to ride on his bus. Down the Street Bully Brad was the first one to get off the bus for spring break. Not because he lived the closest to Mt. Olive Elementary school. He didn’t.

Bradley Macalister was always the first off the bus because he was the one who started all the fights. With a screech of the brakes and a whoosh of the double doors closing, Mr. Holcomb left Bradley on the side of the road. That was back when a kid could be kicked off the bus or put out in the hallway if they misbehaved.

Second off the bus was Candi. That’s Candi with a heart drawn above the “i” in her name and my girlfriend since the third grade. She lived in a big pink and white brick house on the corner of Flamingo Street. Preston Weston III also got off at the same stop. Preston, a.k.a. Money Bags, lived over on the Duke of Gloucester Street where all the other rich people lived. He didn’t have to ride the bus. He just wanted to make sure my girl friend got home safely. He was a true friend.

With three more blasts from the chrome train whistle, Blabber Mouth Betsy and Tattle Tale Tina disembarked. If anything happened in school, Mom would already know about it before we even got home.

Betsy and Tania controlled the flow of information from Mt. Olive Elementary to Flamingo Street. If you wanted to get the word out, they were the ones to tell. Their communication network rivaled that of A.T&T. I think they now work for some local politician.

Three more blasts and Goofy Steve stumbled down the aisle, but then again Goof always looked like he was stumbling over his feet. That’s what made him the best dodgeball player in all of Mt. Olive.

When he got to Briarwood High School, it would make him the best running back to don the uniform of the mighty black and gold Buccaneers. By the time he graduated, Goof held all of the rushing and pass receiving records. More importantly, Goof was my best friend.

As he stumbled off the bus, Sam jumped up and licked him in the face. Sam was his big black Labrador retriever, not his little brother. Goof’s little brother was named John.

Next stop was Bubba Hank’s house. Bubba had a bad kidney infection back in the first grade, and he was out for three months. All he could do was stay in bed and eat, and eat, and eat. Between all that eating and being out of school, he had to repeat the first grade, which made him the biggest kid in our class.

Bubba never stopped eating, and by the time he reached the hallowed halls of Briarwood, he was the best tackler Coach Reeves had ever seen. By the tenth grade, Bubba held all the records a defensive lineman could hold; his 30 tackles in one game was still a record at Briarwood.

Mr. Holcomb’s big yellow train bus came to a halt at Thomas’s house next. Thomas Humber was our next-door neighbor, and as soon as the doors whooshed open, he bounded off the bus. Thomas was in a hurry to get home so he and his dad could get things set up.

Each year to kick off spring vacation, Thomas would have all the kids in the neighborhood over for a camp-out in his backyard. No girls allowed. Maybe Thomas would have stayed on the bus if he had known that a flaming marshmallow would start a huge forest fire that night.

My three brothers and I got off at the next stop and Mr. Holcomb let me pull the gold chain three times. It was the start of spring break which meant that school only had seven more weeks to go. Only seven more weeks and I’d be out of Old Mrs. Crabtree’s third grade class and never have to see her again.

Little did I know then that she would also be my fifth grade teacher. Life’s funny that way. Just when you think you have everything figured out, BAMO! What you don’t see will blind-side you.

Don’t get blind-sided this spring break; wear your seatbelt. You never know what’s up ahead or just right around the corner. Watch for kids as they get off the school bus, even if they are being let off in a remote location like Bully Brad.

And if you hear of a yellow school bus with a train whistle on the top, let me know. I’d like to say hello to Mr. Holcomb.