The first day of sixth grade, I encountered a brand spanking new set of friends when transplanted from my old cadre into the classroom next door. That day, I met David Stebbins, Carra Bussa, Susan West, Richard Manson, Julia Goodwin, and my first serious crush, Tahnya Hayes, who conveniently sat immediately in front of me. I always was the lazy sort when it came to meeting girls.
One new friend that year was Bill Biniores. Aside from possessing a last name ever mispronounced at first encounter, Bill could never keep his shirttails tucked in. He was a bit of a schemer, a slacker when most kids were as taut as guy wires. There was strong evidence that he only combed his hair on Tuesday afternoons and bank holidays. Bill was unkempt to a degree rarely achieved without having been raised by wolves.
We had separate teachers for different subjects. Like a juvenile chain gang, we would shuffle from room to room at regular intervals throughout the day. Textbooks remained in each room, shared by each class as we entered, and evicted from our consciousness as we departed.
One day in Social Studies, we were to turn in work that we started the day before in class. Bill, sitting just to my right, scrunched up his eyes as if pondering weighty matters or having smelled something unfortunate. Moments later, a smile tellingly slid across his face like chilled molasses on yesterday’s flapjacks.
He raised his hand and informed the teacher, old Mrs. Counting-the-days-until-retirement (not her real name), that, lo and behold, he had mislaid the crucial homework over which he had slaved so arduously. Although she forgave the assignment, her face revealed that she trusted Bill as far as she could throw a hippo at an all-you-can-eat-papaya-and-tribesperson buffet.
Amid abundant renderings of Batman and Spider-man in my notebook, I discovered a glaring absence of that particular day’s homework. I was puzzled, particularly since we had no canine that could have eaten it. I knew I had finished the work, as I had been granted the Steve Hendricks Medal of Valorous Honor upon completion. This was the highest commendation I could award myself in peacetime.
The previous day, I had probably folded my answer sheet and absent-mindedly placed it in the textbook, surrendered at the end of class. I imagined some kid finding the answers, eager to pass off my work as their own. I took some solace knowing that doing so would serve them right, considering the dismal grades I earned in Social Studies.
Raising my hand angelically, I informed the teacher that I, the pure, the diligent, the ever-studious, had also misplaced my homework just as Bill allegedly had. Her face darkened as if her next smoking break had been subsumed by extra hall duty. Her gnashing teeth drowned out the air conditioner. As she reached for her paddle, she gave me a look as icy as Robert Scott’s scrotum after a month in Antarctica.
Called up before the class, I was instructed to bend over and grasp my ankles. Mrs. Casey-at-the-bat (also not her real name) stepped up to the figurative plate. I swear she spit in her hands for a better grip. Ah yes, there was to be plenty of joy in Mudville that day.
My face was turned toward the class when the blow landed. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped in my best Stan-Laurel-inspired reaction. Had I worn a hat, it would have flown up several feet and landed back on my head with a little toot. To the teacher’s puzzled annoyance, the whole class laughed.
I was pleased to have turned shameful punishment into a bit of clowning, even if my backside bore the brunt (literally, the “chief impact”) of the jest.
This was the only spanking I ever received, unjustly prescribed for bad timing in proximity to Bill. However innocent I was that day, in light of later adventures, the paddling could be reckoned as front-loaded karma, a down payment on shenanigans to come.
In April 1973, Bill’s father received a patent for a newfangled toilet cutoff valve and the family got a nice financial boost. Bill dressed snappier after that, and he displayed increased confidence and poise, but his roguish shirt tails remained forever untamed and untucked.
