The last thing you remember vividly was the sales-pitch you got for Junior High.
You were heading into your last weeks of 6th grade – elementary school would be history. You started shaving – you were looking at your bike and wished it was a Thunderbird. You started combing your hair – got friendly with Vitalis – looked at yourself a lot in the mirror – figured out how to steal Playboys and not get noticed.
So when the Student Body President of Louis Pasteur Junior High visited your class to tell you all about what to expect for this new chapter in your life you got excited and a little scared. You were king of the hill in 6th grade – you would be referred to as “grunt” when you got into 7th grade – low man on the totem pole – pushed out of line – sitting in the back of the bus – getting robbed of your lunch – there are always gonna be “those guys” and the trick was not to look scared.
Because the ones you really had to be scared of were the dreaded Hall Monitors.
They were Seniors – all destined to be Gym teachers. The girls had uniforms; dark green blouse and skirt – yellow armbands – the boys looked like Crossing Guards for San Quentin – they glared at you like you were contagious.
They patrolled the aisles during assemblies – they handed out tickets and confiscated cigarettes. They all looked like they sat on something that died two weeks earlier. Humor was a foreign concept. Teachers loved them – the Janitors loved how clean the halls were when they were around. Students avoided them like the plague.
And you couldn’t be quite sure, but one of the girls had a crush on you – at least it looked that way.
During passing period she would station herself in the middle of the hall – two lockers away from you and right next to the water fountain.
She would scan the hallway looking for miscreants and violators – she would fixate on you until you felt that creepy sensation on the back of your neck that someone was staring at you and she’d quickly look away partially cracking a self-conscious grin when you caught her. You wasted no time getting your books, shutting your locker and making a quick exit to your next class. Went on like that for weeks.
Until the day she wasn’t at her appointed station and a note popped out of your locker.
Hearts, flowers and wall-to-wall gush – it was the same person. She said so. You went instantly vacant.
You were horrified. It was a joke – it had to be.
No such luck.
For the rest of the semester you avoided her as much as possible.
Until the day she stationed herself at her usual post, scanning the hall during passing period.
This time her glance was blank and ice cold. You were finally going to say something but she just stared through you like you had evaporated or became dandruff.
After school you went home, assumed the usual position at your bedroom desk and flicked on the radio.
BMR filled in the stoney silences as you pondered this new wrinkle of being an almost-adult.
You had a lot to look forward to – maybe if you just slept through it. . . .no, there had to be fun parts.
Here is an hour of B. Mitchel Reed and Bill Ballance from KFWB – May 27, 1958.
