There are two camps when it comes to the high school experience. There are those who loved it and there are those who hated it. I have yet to talk to someone who says that high school was okay. The feelings are to the extreme of I loved it or I hated it. I loved it. Being the class clown was something I enjoyed early and often. There is one high school comedic contribution I made to the class of 1983 I regret. It was not because of what I did, but how it was misinterpreted. I will get to that later.
Coming from the farm town of Mokena, the foreboding monstrosity that was known as Lincoln-Way East was stifling. I was 13 and going through the pains of being half man and half boy. I had zits and the only thing that was man sized on me was my schnoz! It grew before the rest of my body could catch up. My nose was so big when it rained kids at the bus stop would stand under it to stay dry. When I walked down a wet side walk, worms inched hurriedly out of my path, thinking a giant pelican was about to make them lunch. It was a monster.
I came from a lower middle class home so the Preps didn't like me. I wasn't a stoner yet and preferred Beatles shirts to AC/DC so I wasn't welcomed in that camp. I really didn't fit in any one group so I was a part of all of them. I remember my days at Lincoln-Way quite clearly because that is when I started to use booze and weed. I think my emotional maturity got stuck in those four years. I made my way through it by trying to make everyone laugh to distract them from the suffocating insecurity that plagued me.
High school was a lot more strict in my day. I am amazed that kids can dress how they choose, eat in class and listen to I-Pods in the hallways today. PDA is also common place. East was run like a well groomed military school. Mr. Gardner, full time science teacher and part time disciplinarian, hated me and roamed the halls for unwitting goofs like me to flex his detention slinging muscle on. I was an easy target for him.
A few weeks into my Freshman experience I was enjoying my lunch with Tom Haug and Frank Baltazar. They to didn't fit in with group A or B so we created group C. One day at lunch, Frank was eating one of those mystery meat hamburgers and removed the pickle from the top. Thinking he was a funny guy he flung the pickle like a paper football and it landed splat dab in the middle of my arm. Sticking to me with ketchup and mustard glue, I picked up a napkin and wiped the pickle from my arm. It fell to the floor.
In his Ninja-like radar enhanced mode, Mr. Gardner was instantly standing over my shoulder. The interrogation was quick and the sentence heavy for a first time offender. After rehashing the story of Frank and his field goal pickle Mr. Gardner escorted me to the vice principal's office. He made it clear that I was a smart ass and I know he thought I was a wuss because I took Earth Science over Biology. I had no intention of cutting up worms, frogs or fetal pigs. I love animals too much. The only time I feel comfortable with a pig getting rubbed out is when I'm chowing on some ribs or a pulled pork sandwich.
As I sat in my sweat soaked chair, Mr. Gardner took his time enjoying watching his catch wriggle on the hook. After a few moments of thinking and going through his mental catalog of school rules he informed me that I was being suspended from school for a day. I was charged, convicted and sentenced in one fell swoop. The official charge "Uncleanliness in the Lunchroom." My shouts of injustice fell on deaf ears. I was just knocking the pickle off my arm. What about Frank? I knew this would go into my imaginary "permanent record" that teachers mentioned in times like these. It was almost comical telling my folks of my charge and sentence. At our 10 year reunion Mr. Gardner made things right implying that he made a mistake in "man code." I was satisfied but I was a marked man from that day forward.
There was another teacher I had who just plain didn't appreciate my advanced sense of humor. She was my Pre-Algebra teacher, Ms. Windish. She was well qualified and knew her formulas well. As a teacher, her style and level of student engagement could make looking at naked Farrah Fawcett pictures boring and excruciating . We had constant run-ins. On Ash Wednesday she came into class with a smudge on her forehead. Me being keen on human observation asked her what the mark was for. She replied that it was Ash Wednesday and she had attended mass earlier that morning.
To a future comic this was like a basketball player throwing one up by the rim for me to slam through the basket. I asked her if someone had put a cigar out on her forehead. She didn't see the humor in my well delivered punchline and threw me out of class. This was the beginning of a very long stretch in her class of unhappy confrontations. I hated Algebra. I never saw the need to understand it when calculators were at my disposal. I didn't think there would ever come a time when I was clutching the rock of a mountain I was climbing, about to fall to my death, only to save myself from disaster by recalling that A+B=C.
As our obvious dislike for each other gained strength and her disdain grew, I became all the funnier, at least in my eyes. The truth was I really didn't understand Algebra and by cracking jokes I could distract attention from my insecurity and fear of being thought dumb. Our final confrontation came during one of our usual verbal jousting sessions. She said "Mr. Connolly if you don't wish to participate in the lecture why don't you just bring in a pillow and sleep during class time?" Yep! You guessed it. I couldn't resist. The next morning I stuffed a throw pillow into my gym bag and when she arrived at the classroom she found my head gently nestled on the pillow as I tried to get a little shut eye. This was the last straw. I was escorted to you-know-who's office, good ol' Mr. Gardner.
At Lincoln-Way you could not wear shorts, chew gum, drink soda and the rules were very strict and specific. When you checked a book out of the library and it became overdue, the Librarian would send a student helper to your class to sign a subpoena acknowledging that you had the book. After the third time of signing the late charge, it was to be paid on the spot. I clearly remember sitting in Mrs. Skori's Latin class when a library flunkie showed up to collect my debt.
I switched into my Jimmy Cagney impersonation and pulled the kid close to me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a quarter. I leaned down to the kids ear and said "Hey kid, here's a quarter act like you never saw me. Make like a mouse and scram!" The class went into a roar and the innocent aide left with my quarter and without my signature. Later that day I was called down to the office, once again, and issued a Saturday detention. The charge this time was "Attempting to bribe a school representative." Yep! That was Lincoln-Way.
There are endless stories of my exploits, trying to get my classmates to laugh. I could easily fill pages with my hilarious and stupid stunts. There is one thing I did which I regret. It still bothers me 27 years after the fact. Remember me saying that I always want the world to judge me by my intentions and not by my actions? This is not reality. My final comedic hurrah still bugs me and not because of the joke, but because people didn't get the irony and cynicism in my actions.
The class of 1983 broke technological ground by deciding to film a video yearbook. Matt Devito was filming it. He was a neighbor and friend. The video had sports clips and funny skits from classes and after school clubs. There were good tidings from teachers and staff. At the time Taco Bell was running a promotion way ahead of their time. I don't recall the details of it but the gist of the promotion was that for every taco you bought during a certain time period, the company would give a few pennies to fight MS or some other horrible condition.
I saw through the marketing ploy and felt that it was using a charity theme to sell more tacos. My loathing for Big Brother and Corporate America taking over the universe was already blooming in my tender years. In one of the skits me and a group of classmates are sitting on the school's theatre stage. As the camera panned over to me I stood up and did a cruel exaggeration of a child stumbling across the stage and falling into a friends arms to which I mutter in a slurring tone "Every time you buy a taco we get 3 cents." Everyone laughed. It made the final copy and I hate looking at it to this day.
My intentions were noble. My actions were insensitive. My point was the hypocrisy of a company trying to increase profits off the backs of people with disabilities. At the time there were commercials from different companies showing children stumbling a few steps and falling into their parents' arms. I found the stories compassionate but the message contrived and deceitful. They appalled me. That final cut of the video shows only me mocking the less fortunate and it breaks my heart. These days companies use these same methods, sometimes with pure intentions other times with thinly veiled ulterior motives.
I enjoyed those "high school daze" up until the end when chemicals started to rule my world. I still love to make people laugh and to anyone I offended with that skit, I am sorry. My intentions were good and noble but we all know the road to hell is paved with them. Peace! God Bless!
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