|
As mortal beings, we must each face the inevitable conclusion to what we hold so dear. Our time is finite, and each passing hour brings us closer to our own obsolescence. Rich or poor, failure or success, each in our his/her own time, we will depart leaving all behind--almost all behind. Our memories alone may transcend this life experience with us. As I take a pensive stroll through the memories I have accumulated thus far, one period stands out as the renascence period of my life. An adolescent phase spanning three years, ages thirteen through fifteen. Many images come to mind. Among them is the beauty of living in the American West, the quaintness of a small school I attended in the California desert, the day a Rhesus monkey escaped its cage during class, and how so unprepared I was to handle a fascinating and bold new concept, sexual maturity.
Imogene Garner Hook Junior High School stood alone on a barely perceivable plateau overlooking Victor Valley. Surrounded by mountain ranges on all sides, Victorville, the city to which my school belonged, resembled a cup and saucer, less the cup. Victorville was at the center. Moving outward concentricly, Hook Jr. High was located on the crest of the cup centering ring. Farther out expanded the recesses of the lower desert, which in turn gave way to the mountain peaks of the saucer rim. This was the Mojave Desert, and its beauty could easily permeate one's soul. The year was 1974. Johnny Nash's hit single I Can See Clearly Now not only set the mood playing on all the AM stations, but also described this place as well as anyone could. "Look all around -- there's nothing but blue skies. Look straight ahead, nothing but blue skies."
Mr. Wayne Fowler taught biology. He stood only five feet and six inches, sported a bushy mustache, and never appeared overly concerned about his receding hair that clearly began its journey several years prior. But what Mr. Fowler lacked in stature, he made up in attitude. There was nothing he would not consider for his classroom if the addition offered educational value. By the time I attended his class, the biology room already contained two ten foot pythons, one eight foot boa constrictor, a porcupine, an armadillo, an opossum, a parrot, a mina bird, several parakeets, aquariums with untold species of fish, ant farms, gerbils, white mice, and the most recent arrival a Rhesus monkey. No one ever questioned the accuracy of what the faculty referred to as "Fowler's Zoo", but behind the obvious sarcasm, we, the students, were glad to learn biology from life instead of death. There is a theory that believes life cannot be contained, and in spite of all efforts to oppress, life will find a way to break free. It was this very theory Mr. Fowler's Rhesus monkey set out to prove, and did so in a most swashbuckling manner. One typical afternoon, among the constant roar of the "specimens", Mr. Fowler was engaging class participation in the study of single cell propagation. With microscopes at each desk, glass slides, sample water, eyedropper, and the enthusiasm of discovery, we identified amoeba, stentor, paramecium, and hoped to find a cell division in progress. No one had noticed that during our microscopic discoveries, the clever Rhesus monkey had somehow unlatched its cage and climbed out. Perhaps frustrated at being ignored, the monkey let loose a screech that could curdle milk. Someone yelled "The monkey's loose!" and the entire class began moving like a swarm of bumble students. This was our folly, for the sudden activity spooked the monkey. It began racing around the room, swinging from the lights like a pirate in Captain Hook's service, grasping for any foot hold and dumping nearly all the aquariums and cages in the process. The following week class was held outdoors, while Mr. Fowler laboriously returned order to his classroom. If camcorders had been around then, I have little doubt Mr. Fowler would have enjoyed taping that episode -- almost as much as I would have enjoyed taping the incident at track and field.
With miles of endless desert surrounding Hook Jr. High, it was easy to see why cross country and track-and-field were the sports of choice. I ran on the cross country team as well as competing in the 440 and 880 yard events. We had to share the track with the girls' team, and often found ourselves overlapping each other's events. One afternoon while practicing for the 440 relay, the girl's team began practicing the 100 yard dash. The track was 440 yards in circumference and with each relay pass, the runner ran 220 yards ending at each end of the track alternately with each run. Now this event carried with it no unusual significance outside of routine, with the single exception of a haberdash of circumstance. Becky Gabler was an outstanding athlete. Focused and determined, she single handily broke nearly a half dozen track records in her first two years at Hook. Ask any of the male students in her classes and she would quickly be voted as "Most Likely To," even if it was one hundred percent wishful thinking on the part of the boys. Becky was maturing a little faster than most of her classmates, and her physique made that fact painfully obvious. Becky was also very fashion conscious, and at that time, tube tops were in fashion. Such a combination of circumstance was required for what happened next. Watching each other practice was expected, but with Becky approaching the start line, the boys' team felt extra effort was in order. They cleared the 100 yard dash finish line where two relay runners had stood just moments before. A whistle blew and they were off. Becky gained an early lead at about 25 yards when fashion, physics, and physique collided. Her tube top fell. Becky was indeed focused and determined, for in a "damn the torpedoes" conviction she never lost stride. We were awestruck, dumbfounded, and speechless as the glorious beauty of her unrestrained femininity bounced past us to cross the finish line. The agility of Becky's physique was beyond our belief had we not seen it with our own eyes. Becky flashed a perky smile, pulled up her tube and continued on around the track. I think she rather enjoyed it.
Coach Maher and Coach Pollock each had his own idea of the best physical education program. Having had both coaches, it was clear that their approaches were different, but neither was actually better. One area in which they shared opinion was hygiene. Both coaches required their classes to shower each day. Being in the middle of adolescence, many of us were uncomfortable with our bodies, which not only displayed a mind of its own, but also changed at the drop of a hat. Somehow though, each of us thought that all the others had knowledge we lacked. Thus, peer pressure demanded we each follow the lead of the others. We had a real life blind-leading-the-blind. When office correspondence required delivery to classrooms, a student with the special status of office runner would handle the errand. On this day it was none other than Becky Gabler. The ten minute bell had passed by four minutes and my entire gym class was bare assed naked, dripping with water and scrambling for dry towels when in walked Becky. We froze -- she stared. Thirty young men in a caldron of brewing testosterone and not one of us could utter a single word. Our minds went blank, and as if nature anticipated our predicament, our bodies reacted. Becky's eyes began to grow wider in direct response to the scene. Finally those of us with towels made a futile attempt at concealing our reactions as a sudden burst of activity commenced. We were surprised and shocked, but most of all we were pissed because we all stood there mute, and never thought of one clever or witty thing to say.
My years at Hook Jr. High School are best characterized as my Age of Discovery. I not only lived first time experiences, but the results led to the development of a mature character. The beauty of the Mojave Desert and the quaintness of a small town are now deep rooted memories. Knowledge and skills learned from Mr. Fowler have not been lost, and from time to time I still prefer to take the scenic route on foot as I did in cross country. But more than anything else, I now know exactly what to say should Becky ever step through my door! |