Skip to main content

MY HALF DAY AS A PATROL BOY

     I was in Mrs. Murphy’s 6th grade class at Wakefield Elementary, Sherman, Texas, in the fall of 1961.  It was the pinnacle of authority and success to be a Patrol Boy!  One had to keep their grades up, not be a smart ass, be serious, responsible and vigilant.  I really, really tried to clean up my act for this honor.  

     We were told any infraction at school, resulted in a bad entry in your “permanent record”.  This was a report I interpreted as beginning with your birth and was kept up to date for the rest of your life.  Both good and bad incidents were recorded and would determine if you were able to graduate to the next grade, where you went to college, who you would marry and likely if you went to heaven or hell.   

     No one with multiple bad reports in the “permanent record” could hope to serve on the elite “Safety Crossing Squad”.  Members of the corp got to wear the Patrol Boy white belt/sash, badge and helmet.  You got to leave early for lunch to prepare to get those going home for the noon meal, safely across the street.  The same at the end of the day…leave class early to stand on the corner, watch and stop traffic, get the children across the street towards home.

     After my begging and pleading…and against her better judgement, Mrs. Murphy reluctantly agreed to let me serve on the Safety Patrol.  I was sent out with another boy, just before lunch and we were assigned different crosswalks.  

     As we waited for the lunch bell, I grew anxious to commence exercising my newly acquired authority and began stopping cars with no children waiting to cross.  As a car approached, I stepped into the street and held up my hand in an official “Barney Fife” looking manner.   The car would stop, I would look both ways, walk back to the curb and wave the car on through.  

     This irritated the drivers and on the first half of my first day of duty, someone called the school and complained to our Principal, Mr. Scott.  He spoke with Mrs. Murphy and my law enforcement career came to an immediate, grinding halt.  


     I was drummed out of the corp.  My belt, badge and helmet were taken from me and I was returned to the anonymous, faceless ranks of the masses.  I wept.  Mrs. Murphy wept for me, but nothing could be done.  I was washed up at the age of 10 and realized this failure…this stigma, would follow me on my “permanent record” for the rest of my life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

BUCKY SAPPENFIELD FROM SHERMAN, TEXAS

    I grew up with the handle, Bucky Sappenfield.  At first glance, it does not appear too difficult, but there is something about the human brain that does not process my name.  Any new person in my life has a tendency to butcher the name, bestowed upon me by my parents.      On the first day of the 1st grade, my new teacher was calling role, got to me on the list, studied it for a moment before asking, “BUDDY SACKERFIELD?”    I didn’t know who she was talking about and finally she stared at me and said, ”Are you Buddy?”     “BUDDY?”  Where in the world did that come from?   She looked at the paper a bit longer and said, “Oh…Bucky.”  There is just something about that name.      We had a lady at the school office who insisted on calling me by my Christian name, George.  Yet, I didn’t know who she was talking to and it caused me more than one “dressing down” when I would not respond i...

IT’S NOT GOODBYE, I WILL SEE YOU LATER IN HEAVEN

    I had a few issues with my parents growing up, but I will always be grateful to them for instilling a strong faith into all of their children.   From an early age, my folks taught us to believe in eternal life.   I believe all my friends, family, loved ones and dogs are in heaven, where one day we will all be reunited forever.          It is hard to lose someone and the “support” group at that time can make it easier or much worse.  My little brother Bob was killed in a bicycle accident in December 1967, when I was a senior in high school.  It was devastating for our family and I felt sympathy from everyone, but folks are just at a loss.         Mostly, people look at you sadly, avoid eye contact and say nothing or something well intended,  but stupid.  Comments like, “the heavenly choir simply needed a new voice” or “he is home and is at peace”, do not comfort.  It is not th...

MY DOG AND TREASURE, HEATHER MARY OF SHERMAN, TEXAS

     When I think of the significant family members growing up in Sherman,  I am always think about our Scotty dog, Heather Mary.  She was a constant source of affection, joy and protection in my childhood.     Heather Mary came to us once after my mother took debris to the Sherman, Texas, garbage dump.   Heather was a spry, fully grown Scotty dog, already a bit hefty and stinky.   She joyfully ran to my mother, wanted her tummy scratched and insisted on getting in the car when mother was ready to leave.  She had no tags and we felt she must have been abused because she was so grateful for any food and affection.      Heather Mary moved in and lived with us for the next 18 years.  Heather was protective of we three boys, accompanied us as we delivered papers,  went to cub scouts or played in the school yard.   If we  wrestled with friends or played football, we had to put Heat...