For many years the junior and senior classes that he taught
had made him the brunt of their jokes and pranks. One would think that once those classes
graduated and moved on that Mr. Tubbs would be safe. But not so.
As new classes of snotty nosed kids moved up, the tomfooleries only
worsened. I had my hand in some of that,
I guess I should be ashamed. But
honestly I don’t think any of us ever meant any harm. We were just dumb kids.
It was registration day for the 69-70 school year. Each kid with his parents would go into his
assigned home room, pick up a registration form, fill it out, turn it back in
and then were free to leave. The next
day would be the first day of school. Mr.
Tubbs’ room was to be the home room for the senior boys that year. One just had to know that something was going
to go wrong with this scenario even though there couldn’t have been more than a
dozen of us in the class. The graduating
class that year was only 20-25 strong.
I walked into the room and picked up my form. I sat down at a desk and filled out my form
with name, address, phone number, etc.
Then for some strange reason, God only knows why, I went back and picked
up another blank form. This time I
filled in a fake address, fake phone number and fake name. It was on that day and in that place that
Denzel Smoot was born. I turned in
Denzel’s registration form and went on my way.
The next day, opening day of school, Mr. Tubbs stood in
front of the class and begin to call roll.
“Joe Blake”. “Here Mr.
Tubbs”. “Bill Collum”, “Here”. “Kyle Duncan”. “Here”. “Michael Halford”. “Here”. “Kenny Hay”.
“Here”. “Michael Milstead”. “Here” and on and on through the names on the
role.
“Ricky Ousley”.
“Here”. “Rick Plaice”. “Here Mr. Tubbs”. “Roy Lynn Robinson”. “Here”.
“Denzel Smoot”…..no answer.
“Denzel Smoot”….still no answer. “Does
anyone know the whereabouts of Denzel Smoot”?
Oh no. He opened the
door and a flood of impromptu answers came flooding from the class room.
“Oh, he can’t be here today, Mr. Tubbs”, one said. “No, he may be out a long time”. Said another. “I think his mother is very sick”. Someone else chimed in. “She might even die”. Now that was stretching it.
“I’m very sorry to hear that”, said Mr. Tubbs sounding
compassionate for this family he had never met.
He went on with the roll call and we went on with our day at
school. It happened like this, day after
day, week after week. Mr. Tubbs
inquiring about Denzel and the mischievous boys making up tall tales about his
situation. Until finally, Mr. Tubbs
just stopped asking about him. He even
stopped calling his name at roll call. I
guess he eventually got the joke.
During those years in school, we not only had roll call in
the mornings but we also had roll call after lunch. Yes, we all ate together. This was a small town, single “A”
school. So one day about mid-year we all
gathered in home room class after lunch for afternoon roll call. But that day one of Rick Plaice’s cousins, I
believe his name was Price. (Of course if you know anything about the Jemison /
Thorsby area in that time, 75% of the people who lived there had the last name
of Price.) Anyway, Price had stopped by
at lunch and decided to sit in on our classes.
By this time, Mr. Tubbs did not call roll, he simply looked
across the room, looked down at the roll book and made his mark. As he looked across the room, up and down the
rows, back and forth at the roll book checking off everyone’s name and suddenly
stopped. Something was wrong. He looked straight at Price.
“Young man, who are you and why are you in my class”. Mr. Tubbs’ squeaky voice sounded threatening.
“Oh, Mr. Tubbs, he is on the roll. This is Denzel Smoot”.
Mr. Tubbs looked like he had been hit in the face with a
pie.
“Don’t you move”. He
said. “Wait right there”. He grabbed his roll book and headed out the
door and up the hallway to the principal’s office.
Denzel, I mean Price, wasted no time. He raised the window, jumped out, ran to his
car and left the parking lot in a cloud of dust. We all resumed our normal, sweet, innocent
faces and awaited Mr. Tubbs’ return.
The door swung open and Mr. Tubbs stood there tall, strong
and defiant. He was shadowed by Mr.
Willie Akridge the school principle.
“There he is, right there, just like I said”. He pointed at the now empty desk.
I swear his voice dropped 2 octaves.
“Where is that boy”?
He asked.
“What boy, Mr. Tubbs”?
“Denzel Smoot, you know what boy. He was sitting right
there”.
“Mr. Tubbs, there was no one there. We don’t know Denzel Smoot” everyone agreed.
Mr. Akridge shook his head and walked slowly back to his
office.
Mr. Tubbs sat down with an extremely puzzled look on his
face. The bell rang and Denzel was gone
forever.
But was he?
Fast forward 35-40 years.
I am working for a company, part time, doing training and exercises for
emergency service units. We sit up
scenarios of armed intruders, hostage situation and terrorist in courthouses
and schools around the state. I dress up
like a bad guy, have my fake guns and bombs and put the “real cops and S.W.A.T.
teams and emergency people through a situation as real as I can make it.
On this day the fake bad guy is holding hostages at the end
of the hall way. We are barricaded
behind school desk and book shelves. On
the other end of the hall way are the real good guys. The local S.W.A.T. team is trying to save the
day. (I’ve always said this is like old
people playing cowboys and Indians).
“Throw out your weapon and come out with your hands
up”. The good guys yell.
“No way, Copper. Get
out’a here or I’ll blow their heads off”, the fake terrorist yelled back.
The real cop decides to use a different tactic. He will try to develop a little rapport with
the bad guy, soften him up a bit.
“Hey, I’m Captain Carter with the Dallas County S.W.A.T.
team. What’s your name”?
There was a long silence.
Then from the end of the hall came the answer. It was more of a roar than a statement.
“My name”? My name”?
“My name is Denzel Smoot”!
The legend lives on.
No comments:
Post a Comment