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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.

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