Episode #5 Everyone Cried But My Brother (The names in this story have been changed to protect the guilty) The schools in Kings Point were not what you would call roomy back in 1961. There were two schools - the Salvation Army School and my alma mater, the United Church School. The Catholics had settled in a community called St. Patrick’s about 15 miles down the road, and the Pentecosts hadnt yet come to town yet. My school was a bare-bones structure with just two rooms. Grades one through five were in one room, grades six through to the end in the other. I say the end instead of graduation because most of the students dropped out to go to work after about grade nine or ten. To tell the truth I dont remember anyone in my peer group who wasnt counting down the years to that time when they could legally quit school and get a job cutting pulpwood. Kings Point was a non-fishing, wood-chopping community in Newfoundland - but thats another story. Of course, this meant that not much credence was given to the material covered inside the walls of that educational prison. That was before HE arrived! His reputation preceded him - he was very strict. I was in grade four and my brother Dawson was in grade five the year Mr. Hobin became our new principal. He was only in his 20s, but seemed much older. In 1961 the strap was a very important source of motivation in my school, and that strap was Mr. Hobins constant companion. My brother and I were actually quite lucky - we didnt have to see Mr. Hobin on a regular basis. He was busy most of the time striking fear into those students of higher learnin in the next room. The only time we welcomed him into our midst was when our teacher lost control of the situation. Even though I remember the day as though it were yesterday - for the life of me I cant remember the offence. I was not in trouble on that occasion, but my brother was. Guilty or not, he was one of the convicted souls on ‘strap row’. There were five felons and, at a designated time, they were rounded up to receive their just desserts. Mitt was the first - a tough guy but no match for the Hob. Three or four slaps on each hand produced the desired result - a tear or two, and he was allowed to retreat in shame. Next came Lee. There was no way this guy would break. But, to my dismay, he was out of the game even earlier than Mitt. The next dastardly heathen was Al. He was so cool under pressure. A few slaps and it was over. Al was still standing there, dry-eyed and looking cool after the sentence had been carried out. Then it was my brother’s turn. There was a determined look in his eyes. Slap, slap, slap ... the worse was over and no tears to be seen! I can’t say for sure but as he returned to his seat, he appeared to be a little taller. The final culprit never even made it to the final round. He was in tears even before leather met hand. That, in my school was the ultimate humiliation, and he is probably still wishing that day back so he can prove himself. I will not embarrass the poor devil further by mentioning his name. Now lets have a recount - three losers and two winners. But wait, thats not exactly how it ended. As Mr. Hobin (The Terminator), was headed for the door, Al looked around at the rest of us, chuckled and commented, nothin to it. Our new principal did a pirouette unequaled by any Russian dancer in the history of the dance. Obviously Al did not show remorse and his sentence was substantially altered to suit this new situation. Well, Al cracked under this latest round of hand to horsehide combat and when I glanced at my brother, it appeared as though his chest had gotten bigger. Dawson is a good brother and continues to be a good friend. Physically, he is not a great deal bigger than I am, but when I flash back to that showdown at the O.K. Corral, the thing I remember clearly was… when the events of the day were over, he commanded a whole new respect around that little two-room school in that one-horse town. You know what really ticked me off though? The Terminator was dating my older sister at the same time. He would show up at our house in the evening and want to talk to us as if he was our best friend! Like that would ever happen! But on the bright side... everyone passed their grades that time when Mr. Hobin came to town. I guess all we needed was a little motivation! Jerry Rideout
Posted on: Sun, 07 Dec 2014 14:22:10 +0000
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