Back to School

Ok, I was just thinking about school. It's that time of year. I spent my first nine years in Catholic grammar school, which explains my fear of penguins.

Sister Mashed Potatoes

From there I went to a high school run by the Brothers of the Good Death, St. Rocko's High School.

I was thinking back to my first day. We got a tour of the school. I'll give you the tour I pretty much got. Over there is the main building. You won't be there. You'll be in the Annex, aptly named because well, it was some WWII era building, and they had to name it something. Unless, of course, you have a class in the barn. Named so because, well, you can figure that one out. (Ed. Note No, this wasn't in some rural region in Kansas, this was in Central New Jersey in the mid to late 20th Century. Go figure.)

There you have your soccer fields, the cemetery, the track, the.....wait a minute, did he just say cemetery? Yeah, my high school had its own cemetery. Right on the friggin campus. Just for the school. So, when one of the Battling Brothers met his ultimate reward, he became a permanent part of the campus. Even a few of the lay teachers were planted there, too. St. Rocko's was like the Mafia of high schools, you could never leave.

Did I mention that corporal punishment was not only allowed; it was almost expected and encouraged at St. Rocko's, right? We had a Dean of Discipline, and an Assistant Dean of Discipline, just in case the Dean was feeling good. There was an entire hierarchy of Disciplinarians, in fact.

One of the older teachers, Brother Artifact, I believe, used to roam the school with something called the Whumper. No one was sure exactly what it was, speculation ranged from a blackjack to a bag of nickels, to a shilelagh. We never found out, but nearly every student at one time or another felt the effects of the Whumper on our legs, or backs, or arms.

Brother Knuckles routinely used to offer to box students 2 at a time to even up the odds. No one dared accept his challenges, either. Occasionally, he would work over a random senior to stay in shape.

And detention. Punks today have it easy. We worked in the fields or the gardens, anywhere the Brothers decided landscaping or crop rotation was needed.

Yeah, I miss those days.

Disclaimer: Every word is more or less true, but the names have been changed to protect the author. He still lives within an all too short driving distance of St Rocko's.

They aren't afraid to go back to school at:

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Update: Still waiting on entrecard techs to figure out why I can't sign in.