Drill me!
Put your hands over
your head!
No, it was not a stick
up, at least not of the regular kind. It was the 1960 version of
paranoia, visited upon elementary school children daily in their
classrooms.
During the time period of 1960 through 1962 those of us attending
West Hollywood Elementary School, of Hollywood, Florida, were
daily participants in the "Stop, Drop, and Cover" drill, as well as
the "Duck, Cover and Wait" version. Both drills were the result of adults
being afraid of "The Bomb" and that Castro was going to shoot
missiles at us.
Looking back now I can have a bit more sympathy for the
adults of the day. They had experienced the horrors of the bombings of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the continued bomb testing going on in Nevada and at
Bikini atoll. They were also the first generation of adults to see disasters on
television, happening in more or less real time. We must not underestimate the
shock value those images had, nor the emotional distress they caused.
In my opinion, falling
to the ground and curling up in a ball, with your hands over your head, did
nothing but frighten young children and created a generation of "Doomsday
Children," always waiting for the "Big One" to drop. That was
the era of building bomb shelters and stockpiling supplies in them. In Florida
we couldn’t dig without hitting water so shelter building wasn’t as big of a
deal there.
At the time of this
story I was in my second grade class with Miss Wright (no relation) as my
teacher, and we were being instructed in how to properly "take cover."
They were afraid to say what we were really doing because it would cause panic
for sure, so they called them tornado drills.
I had lived in south Florida for
years and had never seen a tornado by itself, except on television—happening
somewhere else. They sometimes spun off of hurricanes either over land or
as waterspouts, but those are not the same size and intensity as the monsters
that plague the rest of the country.
We were young and
inexperienced, but we were not stupid. Kids weren't generally deaf then either.
We heard our parents and other adults talking about what was going on with Cuba and
the Russians, and we overheard the teachers talking among
themselves. What little television we were allowed to watch usually
included the evening news and at that time, especially in south Florida, the
missile crisis was always being talked about.
There were some
advantages to these drills, besides the obvious disruption to the education
process which kids were always ready for. We usually had to work at getting the
teacher off track, so as to break the monotony of all of that learnin’.
My desk was at the
back of the row by the windows, located farthest away from the door to the
classroom. It was an alphabetical arrangement to make taking roll and lining up
to go anywhere easier for the teacher. Sometimes I thought that it was really
done that way in an effort to keep me from escaping.
As the drill began,
the teacher had to first go over and shut the door. After securing the door she
had to take roll again. “Duh, she just did that an hour earlier!” I thought,
but the rules were the rules. Then she had to sit down in her chair and put her
head down on the desk.
I think that modification
to the “Duck and Cover” drill was just because she was so old that she couldn't
get under her desk without getting hurt. She was eligible to retire long before
I was born, but she didn't want to give up teaching. Her wanting to stay was
really funny thinking back on it, because she always called us brats and was
grumpy each and every day.
When they rang the
bell to start the drill on one particular day, we all hit the deck just like we
had been shot, much to the displeasure of Miss Wright. She shook her finger at
us and made noises with her mouth to indicate to be quiet. We thought that what
we did was hilarious and started laughing, incurring further wrath from the
drill sergeant.
The girls really
didn't like lying down on the floor and getting their dresses dirty, and yes,
in those days all of the girls wore dresses. Remember also that these were
seven year old girls. If they were having a bad day anyway for some reason,
they were likely to start crying. Depending on which girl it was, it could start
a regular chain reaction. Just like going to the restroom together, if one
cried, they all cried.
It was during one of
these drills the very next day that we decided to see how long we could make
the drill last. We wanted to see just how long the teacher would play the game
until she had enough and called a halt to it on her own.
When the drill signal
sounded we all hit the floor and stayed there, watching the teacher, but very quietly
this time. She thought that we were being good because of her fussing at us
last time. When she was done with roll taking and satisfied that we were down
and in the proper position (curled into a ball with our hands over our heads) she
sat down and put her head down on her desk.
As soon as her head
came to rest on her desk I slipped out of the window next to me (the windows
went from the floor to the ceiling with no screens) then ran around the
building to the other side. I was going to slip back into the classroom through
the window, but the windows were all closed! A girl that sat by the
windows had closed them because she was cold.
Even as a child I wasn’t
one to panic easily, and I saw another option. I walked around to the door to
the classroom and went in, just like it was the most normal thing in the
world. The teacher never moved a muscle.
I walked all the way
through the room to my desk and as I was about to get back on the floor, I
thought, "Why not?" So going with my now plan “B,” I walked over
to the other side of the room, stepping carefully over the bodies sprawled all
over the place (you could only stay curled up in a ball for so long.)
Once there I moved a
chair over very, very quietly, climbed up on it and unscrewed the nut on the
center of the red alarm bell enough to loosen the bell. Then I stuffed the bell
full of paper towels until no more would fit and screwed the nut back in place.
Just as I got off of
the chair I heard the muffled rustle of the striker inside the bell, but
nothing that could be heard from more than a couple of feet away, so we were in
business. I went back to my spot and lay down with a book under my head and my
arms crossed to wait out our “how long?” game.
The "random and
spontaneous" (as written in the teacher’s instructions) sounding of the alarm
always happened at 9:00 a.m. on the dot and was over just as precisely at 9:15
a.m. every single day. You could set your watch by it, except that I didn't
have a watch.
We all struggled to
suppress the giggles and were each determined not to be the one that ended our
"drill." I was truly surprised that the girls went along with it.
9:30 a.m. came along
and still no movement from the teacher. At just fifteen minutes into the overtime
part of the game we were getting restless. Kids can only be still for so long
and then they have to do something or explode.
By 9:45 a.m. one of
the girls, who was pretty bold for her age, came over to me and said that two
of the girls had to go to the bathroom. What was "I" going to do
about it? I said, “Who made me bathroom monitor?” She said this thing was my
doing so I had to tell them what to do. Boy, it was lonely at the top!
I figured that Miss
Wright probably wouldn't remember if she did it or not, so I eased the "bathroom
pass" (a key connected to a piece of wood with "Miss Wright"
burned into it) off its hook on the side of her desk and gave it to the two girls.
I could only hope that they wouldn’t encounter anyone who would challenge them
and scare a confession out of them as to what we were doing. Kids under duress
were often spontaneous confessors.
The game had suddenly gotten
serious. Recess was approaching swiftly, and we weren't going to miss our
favorite "class" of the day. Normally we went out at 10 a.m. and
returned to class at 10:30 a.m. It wasn't looking good.
My mind finally clicked
and I thought,”Hey wait a minute! What’s wrong with me?” I whispered to
everyone to be completely quiet and line up on the sidewalk and we would march
out to the playground just like we did every day, only this time we would be
ten minutes earlier.
Oh yeah, extra play time
and first dibs on the baseball field and the basketball court. I had no idea why
didn't I think of it sooner. Everyone did as I said and out they went, quiet as
happy little mice.
Miss Wright had been
lying there for a long time, and she was VERY old. A momentary flash of
newspaper headlines, "Teacher dies at desk, while children play joke..."
crossed before my eyes. The thought, “How would I get out of that predicament?”
started churning in my over active brain as I stood there staring at her.
Just then she let out
a raspy, gurgling snore that would do a bear justice, and I knew that she was
just "sawing logs" and not "joked and croaked." And out the
door I went.
On the playground the
teacher that usually snuck out early to recess (and always grabbed the fields
for HER students) was pacing up and down. She was obviously not happy that
someone had beaten her to the punch for once. The angry woman wanted to speak
to the teacher responsible for those children who had "violated the recess
starting time". What a big hypocritical baby!
She approached several
members of our class, but the kids kept moving, afraid to have to answer any
questions. It was getting to the point where she was going to blow the whistle
at us... and you couldn't disobey the whistle. It just wasn't done!
So I moved to
intercept her without being obvious and "let" her capture me and
demand to know where our teacher was. That would be OK, I had a plan and I
hoped it worked, because plan "B" for this one was run like mad!
I said to the grand
inquisitor, "Oh, Miss Wright wasn't feeling well and had to go to...",
and gave it a little turning red and bashful look, "to the..." She
said, "Out with it, son!" And I answered, "To the
facilities." Yeah, good and vague, no real direction given and I never
said to the bathroom. And followed up with, "And we are worried about her,
she didn't look well, kind of all sleepy looking and red in the face."
And that's exactly
what she looked like when the teacher and Mr. Sullivan (the principal) found
her still asleep, face down on her desk, with her hands still over her head.
She was so flustered
and confused about being asleep, and getting caught that way by the principal, that
the subject of the bell not ringing (or the early recess) never even came up,
not on that day or any day afterwards.
The principal escorted
Miss Wright down to the school nurse to have her temperature taken and get her
a glass of orange juice. Miss Queen of Angry hustled back out onto the
playground to regain her dominance over everyone there. I used the few minutes
where no one was in the classroom to remove the paper towels from the bell and
throw them away. I was happy to have survived the game, but definitely sure
that I wouldn’t do that again.
As far as their stupid
drills were concerned, I'd much rather have gotten blown up by a missile or
bomb while I was playing ball instead of hiding under a desk. Have you ever
seen what is on the underside of a school desk? Not a pretty sight!
And that's the way it
was in 1960, when the known world was "smaller" and so was I.
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