School Story:
It's hard to pick any one story since the group I hung around always seemed to be one step ahead of the law. Our favorite hangouts were the Sugar Bowl (if we were hanging with the girls) or Al White's Pool Room (guys only). The pool room crowd included (forgive me if I leave someone out, it's been a long time), Darrell Moore, "Easy" Creech, Donald Creech, Theron "T-Bone" Barbour, Doane Johnson, Donald "Hustler" Bailey and, of course, the one who ran the place, Charles Woodall. Now, Charles was one crazy injun that you didn't want to see get too close to the firewater. When he wasn't sticking beer lables to the ceiling using half-dollars, he was trying to shoot them down with his favorite 38. One night he was waving that gun around and I hid behind the old Wurlitzer juke box and was known from that day forth as "Picollo Pete". But, that's not a high school story, is it?
Well, let's try this. Staying awake in class was not one of my strengths, especially during 5th period French classes (my God, French was boring enough without it being right after lunch). Anyway, this one day I had my head on my desk snoozing away when a deep, booming voice right next to my ear said "Ms. Willis, would you mind if I woke up PB for a minute?". Lo and behold, our own Mr. W. J. Barefoot, Principal Extraordinare, was standing there looking down on me with what I can only call 'utter disdain'. It seems that he wanted me to provide him with a written excuse for some absences I had recently incurred. You see, my parents had gone on a two week vacation to Hot Springs, Arkansas and had left me and my sister, Linda, to stay at the Carolina Hotel on the corner of 301 & 50 which was owned by my Grandfather Benton. Nowadays that would be called child neglect, but in that day and time it was perfectly OK. After all, I was 17 and Linda was 15 and times were more innocent. Anyway, we each had our own room and every day Linda dutifully got up and went to school while her sorry brother slept-in until time to go to the Sugar Bowl to meet the after school crowd. For two weeks, my sweet sister explained to Mr. Barefoot that I must have the flu or some equally horrid disease and she felt I would get better any day. I did have a miracle recovery when Mother and Daddy got back. That explains why Mr. Barefoot so rudely interrupted my (no-doubt fantasy) dream that afternoon in French class. OF ALL THE NERVE, HE WANTED TO SEE IF MY PARENTS ACKNOWLEDGED AND EXCUSED MY BEHAVIOR. I don't think he trusted me!
Not the end of story, yet! After I failed to provide him with said excuse, he promptly went back to his office and pounded out a long letter listing all of my indiscretions and then some. The next afternoon, this sweet, young thing (I wish I could remember her name, but if she's reading this, she might remember the occasion) came into the French class again to collect other student's excuses (I never understood why they were trusted and I wasn't). Anyway, she then confided in me that she had a letter to send to my father and should she go ahead and mail it or would I like to give it to him? Now, that was a rhetorical question if I ever heard one.
You know, I don't remember to this day what ever happened to that letter.
