In high school, discovering that there would be a substitute in one or more of my classes always produced a sense of elation and anticipation in me. It presented an opportunity to screw around, cause a nuisance and see just how far I could push the untested, unsuspecting “sub.” Many of the subs tended to be young, newly minted teachers from local colleges, and I possessed an uncanny knack for being able to spot the abject fear in their beady eyes. Occasionally we would get stuck with a grizzled veteran who knew just how to quash any potential uprising and rain on our parade. However, that proved rare. Word would spread like a wildfire when there were subs on campus. “Hey Pete, there’s a sub in third period English” someone would yell as I walked onto school grounds. Great I thought, two periods to prepare my assault.
My willing accomplices and I had a grab bag full of pranks, schemes and disruptions prepared to unleash at a moment’s notice. Our modest goal was to pull off an event outrageous enough to spread throughout the halls of Redondo High. One of our favorites involved ditching a class we were in and showing up for roll call in another class with a sub. We would then adopt the name of someone who was absent that day, basically an uninvited, obnoxious guest at a party. We would unleash smart ass remarks, interrupt conversations and raise our hand to ask the frustrated educator ridiculous, intrusive personal questions. “Mr. Porter, what kind of beer do you drink on your lunch break?” Or, “Mr. Porter, have you ever picked up on a chick in a class you were teaching?” A good run lasted maybe fifteen minutes before the situation escalated to the boiling point. When the heat cranked up, we would just casually walk out of the classroom much to the shock of the sub. Without hesitation they would usually call the office and report that Billy Prescott had walked out of his classroom for no reason, to which the secretary would inform the clueless goof that Billy’s mother had called in earlier and reported that he was sick and would not be in school that day. The only potential problem created was having to avoid the sub from spotting you for the remainder of the day. One memorable moment occurred during my junior year, when a friend, Eric, came into one of my classes being taught by a “tough guy” substitute. When Eric decided it was time to bailout and stood up to leave, the much too aggressive instructor blocked the door by standing in front of it. Undaunted, Eric reversed course and climbed out of a low level window in the rear of the room. When he got outside, Eric shouted back, “Nice try sub, see ya later!” as he sprinted across the grass and around the science building. As the class cheered the fugitive, the tenacious sub actually ran out of the room and began chase. A minute later he returned, huffing and puffing without Eric. That was an excellent day in school!
I believe the pinnacle of my success as a student agitator and instigator occurred in 1967 in Mrs. Rappaport’s English class. Mrs. Rapp was a kind, decent, matronly woman in her 60s, who I believe vicariously enjoyed and got a kick out of my classroom antics. Often she would attempt to be stern and punish me, however I was usually able to smooth talk her out of implementing a penalty phase, settling for a heartfelt, motherly lecture on class disruption and good manners. On this particular day we were discussing the Herman Melville classic we were assigned to read, “Moby Dick.” Those familiar with the novel will recall that Captain Ahab’s leg had been chomped off by the great white whale on a previous voyage. In our classroom discussion the fact came up that there was another character in the tale, Captain Boomer, whose arm had also been bitten off by the ravenous Moby Dick. I casually raised my hand and asked what I considered to be an obvious, logical, provocative question. “Mrs. Rappaport, if the white whale bit off arms and legs, why did they call him Moby Dick?” After a few seconds the class erupted in laughter, cat calls and wild screams of approval. I panicked at the reaction fearing I had crossed the line and would soon be on my way to the office once again for a one-on-one with the principal. Mrs. Rapp stood up and gruffly called my name. However, before she could utter another word, she began laughing hysterically. Now the class became even more boisterous and unruly. The kids around me were slapping my back and congratulating me on what turned out to be the greatest adlib line of my undistinguished high school “Class Clown” career. My timing had been perfect, and the fact that Mrs. Rapp couldn’t contain herself proved icing on the cake. There was a down side however. As the Moby Dick comment circulated throughout the campus, I had to endure the ongoing catcalls, “hey Moby Dick” as I walked the school halls. And unfortunately for the remainder of my senior year, it proved impossible to top the classic white whale question.
Since all of my school shenanigans and disturbances were relatively harmless and neither mean-spirited, destructive, vulgar nor overly personal, my punishments were generally quite mild. For some twisted reason I took more pride from cracking a good joke or pulling off an outrageous stunt than I did in getting a good grade on a test. Ah, the glory days!
