Sometime in the 1970's, when I attended Orchard Junior High I belonged to an extracurricular non school affiliated boys only organization of misfits, neer do wells, underachievers, cowboys, trouble makers and unrecognized geniuses. We called ourselves the Beechnut Boys because our common connection was that we all chewed tobacco. Although several boys had already graduated to the "hard stuff" like Copenhagen and Skoal we had all begun our addiction with pouch tobacco like Beechnut.
Before and after school and during lunch time we gathered outside the building in the unmonitored areas and chewed and spit and told lies. It was a glorious time made more glorious by the fact that we were largely ignorant of and oblivious to the health hazards of chewing tobacco. Another crowd gathered in the alley on the other side of the school and smoked. We had great disdain for the smokers for reasons now obscured through the foggy lenses of time and selective memory.
As our addiction and boldness progressed in tandem we took to "taking a pinch" in the bathroom during longer class breaks. We were just foolish enough to think that six or seven boys going into the bathroom and not emerging would escape the vigilant and watchful authority figures. Ralph Pederson was the vice principal and Paul Pugh was the principal. Ralph was a thin tense man with spectacles and a nervous gait. Paul was a burly man with a shock of thick gray curly hair that older men would love to have.
We spent a great deal of time both eluding and annoying these two stock characters of authority. We had unspoken agreements between the authority figures and our clan. When we made a big mess with our foul vile habit they would pull the reins on---kind of like cops who tolerate a certain amount of drug dealing and crack down when it becomes noticeable. Occasionally our chewing got out of control and we would throw the big wads of spent tobacco on the wall to try and make it stick. To our surprise this angered both Ralph and Paul!
They must have waited until just every single Beechnut Boy was gathered in the boy's bathroom. They burst in like DEA agents on a bust and after checking each of us for chew, marched us up to the office for a long series of "hacks." A hack meant being paddled with a thin wooden board and although such discipline is illegal now it was the norm in those days.
They paddled us one by one. The unspoken code among us boys was that you could not cry even if it hurt like hell. We never gave them that satisfaction. If it did hurt enough to make you cry you waited until you were well out of their sight. Emerging tearless and barely suppressing a smile meant you had endured.
Paul Pugh was also the director of the Wenatchee Youth Circus. The drum for this group sat in a place of pride in his office. When you got a hack in his office you had to bend over, grab your ankles and look at the Wenatchee Youth Circus drum. I never did like that circus or circus kids much after that.
Before and after school and during lunch time we gathered outside the building in the unmonitored areas and chewed and spit and told lies. It was a glorious time made more glorious by the fact that we were largely ignorant of and oblivious to the health hazards of chewing tobacco. Another crowd gathered in the alley on the other side of the school and smoked. We had great disdain for the smokers for reasons now obscured through the foggy lenses of time and selective memory.
As our addiction and boldness progressed in tandem we took to "taking a pinch" in the bathroom during longer class breaks. We were just foolish enough to think that six or seven boys going into the bathroom and not emerging would escape the vigilant and watchful authority figures. Ralph Pederson was the vice principal and Paul Pugh was the principal. Ralph was a thin tense man with spectacles and a nervous gait. Paul was a burly man with a shock of thick gray curly hair that older men would love to have.
We spent a great deal of time both eluding and annoying these two stock characters of authority. We had unspoken agreements between the authority figures and our clan. When we made a big mess with our foul vile habit they would pull the reins on---kind of like cops who tolerate a certain amount of drug dealing and crack down when it becomes noticeable. Occasionally our chewing got out of control and we would throw the big wads of spent tobacco on the wall to try and make it stick. To our surprise this angered both Ralph and Paul!
They must have waited until just every single Beechnut Boy was gathered in the boy's bathroom. They burst in like DEA agents on a bust and after checking each of us for chew, marched us up to the office for a long series of "hacks." A hack meant being paddled with a thin wooden board and although such discipline is illegal now it was the norm in those days.
They paddled us one by one. The unspoken code among us boys was that you could not cry even if it hurt like hell. We never gave them that satisfaction. If it did hurt enough to make you cry you waited until you were well out of their sight. Emerging tearless and barely suppressing a smile meant you had endured.
Paul Pugh was also the director of the Wenatchee Youth Circus. The drum for this group sat in a place of pride in his office. When you got a hack in his office you had to bend over, grab your ankles and look at the Wenatchee Youth Circus drum. I never did like that circus or circus kids much after that.
to be continued
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