Back to the Paddle
During my fifth and final year at Southwestern, the principal asked me to witness a spanking for him. I reluctantly agreed. Now this man was 6’ 5” or more and solid, and I feared for the boy even though he too was husky. The interview began with a talk. He told the boy that he had tried every other method of discipline to no avail. He asked him several questions about things he had said to him in warning and asked if he thought he had any recourse but the paddle. The boy meekly said, “I guess not.”
“Well, grab your ankles then.”
After he had given the boy three quite gentle whacks, the boy stood up with tears in his eyes, put things back in his pockets and returned to class.
The principal turned to me and said, “See? I’m learning, Jack. I’m learning.” Yesss! We both were.
When I reported to work at Greenfield-Central, I learned that paddling was not an option in that school.
* * *
The second time I had attempted to use the paddle back at Carthage, an eighth-grade boy who was bigger than I absolutely refused to allow me to spank him after an altercation in study hall. I became aggressive and shoved him angrily toward the stairs, and to the office. The principal said repeatedly, “Now, let’s keep our voices down. There’s no need to shout.” I reminded the boy of an incident downtown at the Fall Festival parade after I had been up all night with the seniors who were building the award-winning float, Stairway to the Stars. Oh, what floats those Carthage kids built! Suddenly a voice from across Main Street had called mockingly, “Heeey, Jack! (With the accent on the ACK). It was this boy I now confronted in the principal’s inner office, and I reminded him, “I’m not Jack to you, Mick!.”
When it became obvious that I was getting nowhere and getting no support, I said, “The only reason you refuse to allow me to spank you is that you want to go back to your friends and brag that you got away with this. I like you, Mick. I like you a lot, but if I let you do this to me, I will no longer be effective in that study hall, and I can’t let you do that to me.”
From the moment the words “I like you…” left my lips, it was as if he understood that I was angry at his behavior and not because of a dislike for him, and he was ready to take his punishment. I gave him three very light whacks, because that was all that was called for by that time. And I was never to use the board again in that school, and I don’t believe I ever shoved a student again anywhere. My aggression was exacerbated by my having lost my first teaching job at Southport after a year of rude treatment, intrusion, mistrust and departmental distrust. This time I felt I had to be in control.
At Greenfield-Central High School the issue of paddling students had been dismissed by the time I got there in 1979. I should probably mention that at Southwestern, the practice was usually to give the student his choice of punishments—a three day suspension or the paddle. “Three days or three whacks?” was the question.
I came to realize that it was sometimes necessary to explain to a rowdy class that my life was not out of control. I chose to live a happy, controlled existence which they had little power to change however much they allowed themselves to lose control over their own lives.
* * *
I guess this incident is more about self-discipline that anything else. On one occasion at Southwestern as we were preparing for the final performance of Oliver, the cast received word that a young man’s father had passed away very suddenly of a heart attack. We began immediately to plan a replacement for him for that night’s performance, expecting to explain to the audience why we had one character with a script. Before we could put someone into his costume, the grieving son entered quietly, explaining that his father had taught him always to finish what he had started. I believe our youth have an enormous potential for strength and self-discipline, and they do remember what we say to them, especially if they can tell it is important to us and that we practice it in our own lives.
