We smokers usually spilled over onto the steps, but had to return to the "butt barrel" when time came to put down the "weeds". The barrel was nothing more than a bucket filled with sand. In my 4 years there, I can't say that the sand was ever changed. There must have been 1000 cigarette butts as deeply entrenched as Strom Thurmond . Every now and then someone would stir the sand around a bit and give the impression that the sand was fresh, but a quick stab below the surface and you'd find more butts than would be on the lawn at a Jimmy Buffet concert.
A recent posting by a friend of mine related how her dog was traumatized by the fireworks being set off in her neighborhood on New Year's Eve. The explosions sent the poor little fellow into a fit of terror. It set me thinking...
In that time, one could walk into a hardware or farm supply store and buy any length of dynamite fuse and blasting caps. The clerk would simply fill your order and say, "Be careful". There was never any paperwork and background checks were limited to ladies who looked to see if their slip was showing.
You know how it is; useful information quickly finds it way into any gang of kids. One tidbit we knew was that dynamite fuse burned at the predictable rate of 1 foot per minute. Simple formula. Light one that was 6 feet long and you had 6 minutes to haul your stupid self out of the area. The blasting cap was a brass cylinder about 2-3 inches long. You stuck one end of the fuse in the end and then the whole mess went into a stick of dynamite.
The dark ages of January and February were upon us. Nothing to look forward to until Easter, and that seemed a century away. The same drudgery....day in and day out. And finally, intense boredom got to be more than a guy I'll call Rupert could stand. Poking around somewhere, he found some fuse and a couple of blasting caps. Plans were laid and the next day Nicotine Alley was hopping with excitement. Rupert carefully measured 4 feet of fuse and set it up with a blasting cap. This he stuffed about 2/3 of the way down into the butt barrel. When the first bell rang, we had 3 minutes to get to home room. Rupert lit the fuse.
One minute into home room, we were saying the pledge of allegiance. Along about, "and to the republic for which it stands", "Kerwhamo"! There was a terrific explosion. The home room teacher (we called her Snuffy behind her back) ducked under her desk, kids squealed, and some of us could hardly contain ourselves. Rupert wore his halo when the principal stormed into the room. It took me a long time to figure out why he came to our room first, but after all these years and recollections its obvious to me. He knew where his most fertile hunting ground was.
At lunch break, we casually walked out to survey the scene. Bits and pieces of cigarette butts were stuck to windows, in the lawn, in the trees and shrubbery, and I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't in Malcome's gas station across the street.
That episode remains "unsolved" in the mists of time. I went back a few years ago and toured the old school which now serves as an elementary school. There's no Nicotine Alley anymore, but I'm not too sure I didn't see a cigarette butt that had been painted over on a door post.
Rupert is gone now.....so he's beyond the reach, but he'll long be remembered by a few as the well deserved holder of the award for "most notable prank".
4 comments:
LOL I swear you and my husband can tell the best stories from grade school through junior high...in fact, his sometimes stretch into adulthood involving coworkers at DuPont.
In fact, I remember my dad telling similar tales from his early life. Funny, I can't remember any such stories from the women in my family. ;-P
Another good one, Jack. Thanks.
So very funny!! I keep picturing "grease like" kids sneaking around, running off, etc. Love it!!!
Sherri's right, funny stories like these aren't told by the girls for some reason.
Jack, I wrote my comment eons ago but I can't remember if I knew you were from Bedford or not. As am I. I rarely ever, never use my blog and had a heart attack when it popped up on the screen. I do have a high school website that I have been holding up for my classmate to chat year after year but there is always infighting. I can't help think had it been an all boys school, this would never happen! And I am usually at the source of the problem anyway. And you never would have heard a peep out of me in hs dammit. Grown up women can be a pain, and that's why I hang out with old men now, I am not afraid to admit!
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