The Paper Boy

By Sonny Allen

Albert Sparks Jr. was born in 1929, the only child of Albert and Mamie Sparks. The Sparkses were good
people, non-educated, and much influenced by the southern rural, fundamentalist Protestant Church.

Two years later, in early Depression times, they built a small brick home in Bodenheimer, a community
about 10 miles from Winston-Salem, NC. Albert Jr. was reared in that home-centered, church focused
environment, and at age 10 he became a member of Royal Ambassadors, a boys organization at Bodenheimer Baptist. Still a member even now, his leader is a maudlin, highly emotional lady, a teary and true daughter of the Lord.

And then, a fellow RA offered him the opportunity to become a paperboy. A new life began!

Albert Jr. had a route of 65 Bodenheimer customers, more or less. Every afternoon on his rounds he heard storiesCalvin Butner and his bootlegging, hauling white likker in a Nehi drink truck; Hub and
Estelle Doty and their marital problems, and their strange succession of partners. Some stories have follow-up chapters, such as the German POW who walked away from a work detail.

A key to the stories is Wellmans Store, where Albert Jr. meets the truck with his daily bundle of Tribunes. Every day he talks with Cece and Ella Mae Wellman about war news, and he hears gossip from the Ladies News Table. Most chapters have the date and a few headlines from that days paper.

In the final chapter, on the night of V-J Day, he met the prettiest girl Ive ever seen, 15 years old, and so-o-o soft. Actually, shes the RA leaders niece.

And they celebrated V-J Night, or at least they started.

I probly wont go back to RAs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491819555

Sonny Allen

Elmer L. Allen Jr. (Sonny) Grew up in Clemmons, North Carolina Graduate, Catawba College Sonny and Janie married 60 years Three children, five grandchildren Career in Banking, Mortgage Industry President, Owner Allen Mortgage Inc. Mayor, City of Salisbury, North Carolina

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CHAPTER 1

AND A LITTLE LATER…

A FEW WORDS FROM ALBERT JR.

I’M ALBERT SPARKS, JR., the Paperboy.

On February 7, I’ll be 13 years old, and I’m in the 9th grade at Bodenheimer School. My daddy is Albert Sparks and my mama is Mamie Sparks. Most folks call me Albert Jr. Some shorten it up to AbbertJr. I’m the paperboy here in Bodenheimer.

I’m pretty smart in school, but I’m sure not a genius. What I ‘specially like in school is stories. I like to read stories and I like to hear them. The stories I hear out on my paper route is what I’m gonna pass on to you.

I’m gonna write ’em down on paper so you don’t miss anything. Miss Idol, my English teacher, taught our class about quotation marks. But, just so you know, I’m by myself a lot, not talkin’ to anybody, and thoughts come to me as I ride along, and I’m gonna put a single mark around those thoughts ‘like this’. I don’t want you to miss anything.

I really like bein’ a paperboy. Ever’ week-day afternoon, over at Wellman’s Store, I load 65 copies of The Tribune in a bag on my bicycle handlebars and I ride about six or seven miles deliverin’ those papers to my customers.

Seems like at ever’ house I take a paper to there’s somethin’ to tell about. Some stories are short, maybe a page or two. Other situations come up and it may take several pages for you to get all the information. An’ another thing, I hear news one day about somebody, and then there’s somethin’ changin’ the next day or the next week. When that happens I’ll add another chapter. I’ll let you know when that’s necessary.

I think you’ll be inner-rested in what’s goin’ on, with the war an’ all, so I’m gonna add a few of the day’s headlines, and that day’s date, from the Tribune.

Now, I’m gonna write these stories just the way I hear people speak right here in Bodenheimer. My English teacher over at school will prob’ly find some fault with my verbs or adjectives, or whatever. But, then, she dudn’t hear your language the way I do.

I didn’t ask her about what I’m writin’. But, just the same, I like her a lot.

As far as I know the stories are all true. If you like them I hope you’ll tell somebody else.

CHAPTER 2

ROYAL AMBASSADOR, MISSIONARY, OR PAPERBOY? WHICH?

The Tribune

January 15, 1942

- Heavy Fighting on Guadalcanal

- Manila Captured by Japanese Forces

- Siege of Bataan Begins

SEEMS LIKE TO ME boys go through a change of life from little boy to bigger boy all of a sudden.

’Bout the time I was in the fourth and fifth grade I stopped thinkin’ much about toys, and I thought about baseball, and ridin’ my bike places other than the back yard, and goin’ to Muddy Creek with other boys.

. . . An’ I thought about girls, but not too much.

’Course, I went to church with Mama and Daddy ever’ Sunday, to the Bodenheimer Baptist. An’ ever’ Sunday, since the first day we went there, Mrs. Evelyn Abernathy, said that they ‘specially wanted me in the Royal Ambassadors.’ She said, It’s the finest organization in the world to open doors for boys and young men. And we want Albert Jr.

Naturally, it sounded pretty good to us. An’ it was plain to see, she was really sold on it. She said, My son, Eugene, is in Ambassadors and loves it.

We talked about it at home and we all said I could try it for a while. Mrs. Abernathy was tickled to death the next Sunday when Mama told her I’d be comin’.

The first time I went I was glad to see some boys that I knew at school. There was Bill Fisher, the paper boy, Rober Sheeks, that lived down the road from me. His name is really Robah, but ever’body calls him Rober. Bob Hendrix, Bill Craver, an’ some other boys were there.

After a few weeks I got to likin’ it pretty good, ‘specially some parts of it. The meetin’ starts ever’ week with somethin’ called a sword drill. It’s sort of like a spellin’ bee, ’cept that boys stand along the wall with a Bible.

The leader calls out a reference an’ the boys try to be first to find it in the Bible. ‘It’s sort of a contest where the boy with the right answers keeps standin’ and them that don’t know where the references are have to sit down.’

Some of the members never get any references, but a lot of the time I’m standin’ to the end of the drill. I like that. An’ Mrs. Abernathy says I’m real good. One night she said, Albert Jr., I do believe you’ll grow up to be a preacher, or maybe a missionary.

Anyway, after the sword drill, we have sentence prayers, and each one of us is ’sposed to pray. Seems like in ever’ meetin’ ever’body in turn remembers the soldiers in foreign fields. As the prayin’ begins to wane, somebody remembers to pray for a lot of money to be raised for the Lottie Moon Christmas offering, whatever that is. I don’t know who Lottie Moon is but I’ve prayed for her a lotta times.

Rober dudn’t like to pray. If he thinks he’s goin’ to get by he’ll barely open his eyes and look at Mrs. Abernathy. Without fail, she’ll be starin’ at him, and she’ll nod to him.

’Course he knows what she means. But he will always squench his eyes closed. Real tight. An’ he’ll move his lips like he’s deep in silent prayer—prayin’ hard to save sinners.

We don’t have much of a program at RA’s, except that Mrs. Abernathy always tells about Bible stories and miracles, and so on. When she talks she gets real teary and tells us that she prays for all of us every night.

A couple weeks ago we were havin’ supper, the night after an RA meetin’, an’ Dad got around to askin’ me about our Bible studies. I told them, I never did mention this in the RA meetin’s but we were studyin’ the Old Testament and the Garden of Eden. I had a little problem about talkin’ snakes an’ about Jonah swallowin’ a whale.

Mama got a little red-faced but she kept eatin’. Dad was straight-faced an’ said, "Well, I’ve called snakes a lot of names before but I never had a real conversation with one…

Mamie, lemme have another biscuit an’ a little more of that good gravy."

Then back to the Bible. An’ son, it was the whale that swallowed Jonah. It kep’ him in his belly for a week or two an’ then he throwed up Jonah an’ a bunch of other stuff. An’ Jonah become a preacher.

It was real quiet. The three of us looked at each other. The only sound was Dad eatin’ gravy-biscuit soakies.

Anyway, I went on back to RA meetin’ last week.

. . . An’ I won’t forget that meetin’. Mrs. Abernathy had to step out to her car for somethin’. While she was out, Bill Fisher whispered to me, I’ve got a drivers permit, and I’m gonna start drivin’ a milk truck for Puckett’s Dairy. You wanna take over my paper route?

Out of the blue, lights flashed! New possibilities flooded into my mind. Paperboy!

I’d love to be a paperboy!

And then Mrs. Abernathy came back. Until one minute ago, I was thinking about myself as a missionary. I knew that Mrs. Abernathy and everyone at Bodenheimer Baptist would have been so proud.

And the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering would get a lot of money if the preacher announced that Albert Sparks Jr. is now serving the Lord in China… And Mrs. Abernathy would be so happy.

But, bein’ a paper boy would be nice, too.

Bill said, How ’bout meetin’ me over at Wellman’s Store tomorrow around 3:30 and ride the route with me! I did. And by 4:00 my mind was made up… I’m the new paperboy! An’ I guess I’ll stay on in the RA’s for a while. I sure don’t want to make Mrs. Abernathy cry.

CHAPTER 3

WELLMAN’S STORE

The Tribune

January 30, 1942

- Battle of El Alemein on Egypt-Libya Border Ends. Rommel and German Army In Full Retreat.

- Churchill says, This is not the end. It’s not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps the end of the beginning.

- Gas Rationing to Begin February 1

‘NOT MUCH GOES ON in Bodenheimer now-a-days. With the war goin’ on an’ all, there’s not many cars on Highway158. ‘Specially during the day.’

Early in the morning’ and again in the evenin’ right many cars go to and from town. An’ they’re all full of people ridin’ together because of the gas shortage.

One place that’s busier than most is Wellman’s Store. People park their cars behind the store early in the mornin’ and ride together to work in Winston-Salem. An’ then back in the evenin’.

Truth be known, the war’s been good for Cece and Ella Mae Wellman. Ella Mae went through the seventh grade at Bodenheimer School. Cece was working for his daddy in the store. Then Mr. Wellman died when he was just 51 years old.

One day when Cece and Ella Mae were both 17 years old a note was on the door ‘Store closed. come back tomorow’. Cece and Ella Mae went off to York, South Carolina and got married. They’ve been runnin’ the store ever since.

Lot of mornin’s he’ll sell $3.00, or even more, worth of gas to some of the drivers. An’ then in the evenin’ some of the folks will stop back by for awhile. In warm weather ever’body likes to sit on the benches under the front canopy and talk.

Some will drink a Co-Cola and smoke a few Camels. Some will buy a few groceries like crackers, salt-fish, pork and beans, a slab of side-meat. Once in a while somebody’ll take a poke of hard candy home to the young-uns. ’Course, ever’ day they want to hear the latest war news in the day’s paper.

The after-work crowd is a fairly good flurry of customers that comes in every day. And in addition, a few kids walkin’ home from school drift by in the afternoon. Sometimes somebody’ll buy a box of crayons or a small cup of Southern Dairy ice cream, or a five cent Blue Horse lined tablet.

Also, some lady-folks come in to Wellman’s real regular. They come in to buy a spool of thread, or a couple yards of dress material, or bluing for their rinse water, or whatever.

They usually come about the same time and they are always willin’ to pass on news bits.

Mae Fesperman has always been an active carrier. I seen Hazel Whitley, Doc Watkins’ nurse, and she whispered to me confidential, and maybe ya’ll have heard it, that Sophie Johnson’s definitely got rectum cancer?

Oh, law. But, Mae, I’m not surprised. said Opal Hendrix. You know, some of her young-uns has been sayin’ their Mama’s just took to the bed with the vapors, but I knew it was something else. Her colorin’ has just not been good. My mama looked like that back when she took sick and died.

Maxine Holder came over took a seat, and picked up the conversation, Do ya’ll know they’re sayin’ now that Henry Williams has got hardenin’-of-the-arteries.

And while she had the floor, she added, I believe that the preacher was talking direct to him Sunday night when he said ‘You better get right with the Lord now, cause it can’t be long ’til the end times, and you don’t know how long you gonna be here!

Well, I can believe that, about old man Williams, that is, said Opal. Me and Hubert’s said he’s been crazy as a bed-bug for years. He made a pass at my Melody Ann four-five years ago. She was 18 at the time and she wouldn’t give him the time of day. It made Hubert so mad I believe he would’a shot him then if I hadn’t-a stopped him.

Bessie Cook, with frowning brow, added in a very slow, sort of summing up statement, like she always does, I heard about Sophie at Women’s Missionary Union and they only give her a month or two.

Well, Mae said, I didn’t hear that part of it, but Addie Smith told me they got word by long distance to her other daughter, Betty Lou, in South Ca’lina that she ought to come on in.

Now, with a more furrowed brow, Bessie vacated her cane-bottomed chair, and said for everybody, We best be gittin’ along an’ start supper. I see Albert Jr.’s out front rollin’ his papers.

Cece has said over and over, Me and Ella Mae don’t have a high school education but we done alright with what the good Lord give us.

Cece and Ella Mae live in three rooms in the back of the store. Just before the war Cece had put down a new well, plus a pump, and they had runnin’ water and an inside toilet—but they’ve never let on that anybody else could use it.

CHAPTER 4

NICE DAY… WHATTA YOU MEAN? POW’S?

The Tribune

March 10, 1942

- Red Army Begins Offensive in Crimea

- Japs Threatening US Forces Around Manila Bay

- UK Rationing Electricity, Coal, Gas, Clothing

ONE OF THE BEST parts of my day is right here at Wellmans, sittin’ under this canopy… . Rollin’ the day’s papers, readin’ the headlines… gettin’ ready to head out on my route… an’, of course, talkin’ with Cece and Ella Mae…’

Cece, you oughta read this article in today’s paper. It says the Nat-sis are plannin’ to whip up on the Russians. Hitler’s tellin’ his generals they got to take Moscow and Stalingrad before cold weather sets back in.

Well, Cece said, they better get it done in the next little while. They’ll have a couple weeks of summer, an’ a week of fall, an’ then there’ll be a bunch of froze-up German asses.

Cece, I wish you could come to our history class some day. Miss Rudine Adams, our history teacher, gets ever’body in the class talkin’. She jus’ has a way about her. She told us this week about Napoleon. He was gonna do the same thing back in 1812 with his big French army. She says Napoleon got all the way out there to Moscow, just when winter set in. An’ then in her words, she said, and then he got beat by General January and General February."

When Napoleon realized what was happenin’ he headed on back to Paris. But his pore soldiers, the ones that didn’t freeze or starve, ended up as target practice for the Russians.

The way she describes things, she’ll have ever’body in the class laughin’ an’ enjoyin’ her history lesson.

Ella Mae had stepped out and she heard part of the day’s history class. She said Albert Jr., me and Cece agree that we’ll keep on takin’ the paper but we don’t really need to ’cause we get the latest news every day, plus a little history thrown in from you.

‘Well, it’s 3:45, Tuesday afternoon. Papers are rolled, the bag’s packed. I’ve checked the air in my tires.’

Cece, I’m headin’ out now. I’ll be back by in 30, 40 minutes. But then it may be just 10 minutes if Jake Hire’s dogs are chasin’ me. Them dogs wake up ever mornin’ an’ make plans to bite my butt. An’ I plan to stay ahead of them.

Like she does every day, Ella Mae said, Abbertjr., now you be careful out there.

And off I went.

‘Goin’ round the curve, past Rob’s Feed and Groceries, I thought, ‘nice smooth road along here, almost no cars… I’m comin’ up on the Baptist Church… an’ yonder’s Preacher Jones out in front of the parsonage.’ Hey, Preacher, here, let me give you your paper.

Hello, Albert Jr. Thanks. I hope you’re gonna be at the RA meeting tonight. Any news today?

Yessir, I’m plannin’ to be there. Accordin’ to the headlines our boys are whuppin’ up on the Natsies and the Japs.

Well, Albert Jr., the preacher said, I pray earnestly every day for the men on both sides that God will be with them. I kept pedalin’, an’ I thought to myself, ‘Well, ’cordin’ to what you been sayin’ ever’ Sunday mornin’, it’s all up to God.

‘If that’s so, it seems like to me if God wanted to He’d could just stop the whole damn mess. So, is the preacher prayin’ that both sides will kill off the others, ’er what?’

‘. . . Just past the church… I’m coastin’ by Bodenheimer High School, a fine brick buildin’, . . . really looks good, ever’body, first grade on through eleventh, all in there. Ever’ day I remember that there’s talk of addin’ twelfth grade, ‘but that’ll prob’ly be after I’ve finished.’

A sand and gravel path leads from the street to the front of the school building with its brick porch, and steps, and high white columns. At the street is a set of four cement steps with an inscription: Bodenheimer High School, Class of 1929.

‘Ever’ afternoon I think back to the people in the class of 1929… ‘where they at now? I wonder if some of ’em’s dead? . . . an’ I bet some of ’em’s off in the war, half-way ’round the world.’

Down through the village I was tossin’ papers to customers, right side, left side. Then just past the Barnhardt Furniture Store is the crossroads. Peach Orchard Road leads off to the right, goin’ north, and Depot Road goes to the south. Diagonally, across the intersection from Barnhardt’s is Bodenheimer Services.

Sometimes when I’m turnin’ right onto Peach Orchard Road I remember mama saying that she and dad bought our cook stove there at the furniture store when our house was bein’ built.

‘I went in there once with Dad back when I was just a kid. Seems like it was real hot, an’ there was a great big fan… an’ it was dark an’ that fan was loud. I was scared an’ I remember Dad held my hand.’

Anyway, I go up Peach Orchard Road a little ways to deliver papers to the Abernathy’s and the Honeycutt’s.

Abernathy’s are first. ‘There’s her snot-nose kid, Eugene. I get along fine with Mrs. Abernathy at RA meetin’s but her brat is a pain in the butt.’

Eugene, give this paper to your mama.

Abbertjr., git outta here before I whup your ass.

Eugene, when you decide to do that, you better bring your mama and daddy. ’Course I know you would without my tellin’ you.

Back down Peach Orchard to Main Street, Mr. George Longworth’s tombstone business is in another old wooden building right across from the furniture store. Several tomb-stones stand in weeds and honeysuckle vines back of the store along the road.

‘Some of the stones have names on ’em, but I jus’ know that there ain’t any bodies buried back there. Ever’thing back there, tombstones, fences, weeds… it all looks like dust has been buildin’ up on ’em for years.’

Then, ’round the corner, Miss Leitha Longworth, Mr. George’s sister, was on her front porch in her rockin’ chair. I told her that I missed collectin’ for her paper last Friday. Oh-h, Albert Jr., I forgot to get your money ready again. If you don’t mind would you go over next door and tell my brother, George, that he should pay you.

I walked in his shop, an’ Mr. George said, Yeah, I’ll git the money fer ya… I need to take a break anyhow.

I asked him about the tombstone he was workin’ on. "Yeah, Abbertjr., I’m engravin’ this stone for some old lady who died a good while back… I b’leeve she lived in Farmington, . . . ’er sommers ’round here.

On my way again… ‘I don’t usually pray a lot out on my route. Today’s different.’

Jesus, I hope to hell you don’t call me to be a tombstone cutter. Amen.

Then back by Miss Leitha in her rockin’ chair. Bye, Albert Jr. Remember, Jesus loves you.

There were half a dozen more paper tosses on Main, then a U-turn at Miss Idol’s and back-track on Main to Depot Road. I always stop for a couple minutes at Bodenheimer Services. Every day some of my schoolmates are hangin’ out somewhere around the corner.

Frank Welfare always asks, What’s the news today, AbbertJr.?

Here, Frank, take a look at today’s paper, and when you’re done, stick it in Doctor Young’s paper box by the side door.

Doc’s work schedule varies pretty much. Some days he’s there in the mornin’, and then again he might not show up ’til after dinner, say, one or two o’clock. ‘He works on kids with a bad case of the croup or whoopin’cough. He set Hubert Rominger’s broken arm onc’t an’he squalled so big that people all over Bodenheimer heard him.’

‘Some of the ladies at Wellman’s say that Doc doctored on ol’ Henry Williams for a time.

Mr. Williams was jerkin’ bad, and Doc was treatin’ him for the St. Vitus Dance. But he give up on that and decided that it was a case of nerves combined with hardenin’ of the arteries.’

‘He also helps deliver babies now and then. Mama says a bunch of babies around Bodenheimer are the spittin’ image of Doc. He seems like a nice enough man, but he dudn’t have any time to talk with me.’

I ought to mention here that Doctor Young owns the building. The combination grocery, repair shop, and tire sales operation is on the lower side, front. The barber shop is at the rear of the first floor. Doc uses all of the 2nd floor and he also has an office on the ground floor for those patients that can’t make it up the stairs.

Anyway, anytime I can, I chat a couple minutes with a few ol’ boys sittin’ on benches out front, and then I ride around to the barber shop in the rear.

Not surprisingly, today Mr. McKnight, the barber, was sittin’ on the back steps. Mr. McKnight, you gonna be here Saturday mornin’? My daddy got paid last week so we’ll prob’ly come by for hair-cuts if you gonna be here.

Ed McKnight, not the excitable or the talkative type, barely looks up when he responds, I’ll prob’ly be here. Ya’ll come on.

Say, Mr. McKnight, you got any new magazines in your shop? I inquired.

Naw, folks seem to like what I got in the rack.

Well, I reasoned, I was hopin’ you might subscribe to the Tribune. Some of your customers prob’ly don’t take the paper and they’d like to know what’s goin’ on in the world… read the war news and so on. I’d be real glad to start leavin’ you one ever’ day.

Yeah, said Mr. McKnight, They might like it, but I can’t afford your paper. It’s too high-priced.

‘I well know the book rack at the barber shop. One magazine there is used over and over by ever’ man and boy waitin’ for a haircut. It’s an old National Geographic that’s prob’ly 10 years old.’

From repeated use, maybe a thousand times, the book has been opened to the same turned down page to a story about the south seas islands. And there is that half-page photograph of a smilin’ mahogany-colored baby fondlin’ its smilin’ mahogany mama, with big bare mahogany titties.

I think that most of his customers would judge Mr. McKnight to be a dull man. However, on a busy Saturday mornin’ when he finishes a head, he does so with a flourish. He applies a brush and talcum powder treatment to the newly groomed back-of-the-neck, and then there follows that dramatic announcement of End and Beginning:

NE-EXT, WHO’S NEXT

If the next customer is an adult he usually will discreetly close the magazine and put it back in the rack. If the next-to-be-trimmed is a teen-ager or younger, he’ll be smilin’, and hand the magazine, still on the same page, to one of his friends.

On down Depot Road, dusty and bumpy, spent blackberry briars standin’ along the ditches, I whistle and hum my tunes. And indeed, today Jake Hire’s hounds have sensed that prey is comin’ to them. The paperboy is on the way!

This afternoon, for some reason, no one of the mangy pack has taken the lead in warding off the intruder, so they all have just laid in place and howled. One, who may have had a blue tick relative in his lineage, was behind the dead washin’ machine on the front porch. A couple more mingled themselves with old car parts on the porch glider, and others performed their barkin’ duties while lyin’ in the grass that knows not the sound or the feel of a lawn mower.

Whenever I have time I stop to talk with Jake for a couple minutes. Hey, Jake. Boy, it sure is a nice day. Can I leave one of my extra papers for you and your folks? Read about the war, or whatever?

Naw, he answered. We wouldn’t read it. But… tell me again, who’d you say is in the war?

So as not to confuse the issue too much, I responded, We’re in it on one side with the British and a bunch of other folks. The Germans and Japs, and some other countries are on the other side.

An’ I asked, Jake, you plannin’ to come back to school this year? You ain’t been there in a long time.

Naw, Abbertjr., I’ll prob’ly stay around here. I been workin’ right smart. My mama and daddy says I c’n stay here an’ hep them take keer of this place. You know, it takes a right smart of work to keep this place up.

What else you been doin’? I asked.

Well, I hepped some folks prime tabakker this fall An’ I picked a little cotton. Oh, yeah, an’ I been thinkin’ about trainin’ my dogs to do some dog acts an’ take ’em on travelin’ shows. I hear they’s good money in that.

‘A couple years ago when I was in fourth grade, Jake was a classmate. But, then, Jake was in his seventh school term at the time. Even though I sorta liked Jake, I always remembered the odor problem we had in fourth grade.

‘Muddy Creek runs near the Hires’ house, and in the summer, Jake and his daddy will get in the creek and seine for catfish and carp. Of course, no soap is involved, but the runnin’ water does help clean some of the accumulated dirt off of them.’

Back when Jake was still in school, smelly problems developed by mid-October. For whatever it was worth, by October creek swimmin’ an’ seinein’ stopped and the BO factor returned in fullness. Later, by April and May when fourth graders went home in the afternoon we all smelled like Jake and his hound dogs.

The final chapter in Jake’s formal education came on the day when Miss Julia Watkins, the fourth grade teacher, and all the children watched Jake cram a quid of tobacco in his mouth and then, soon he was spittin’ tobacco juice into his book bag!

Twenty one dry-heavin’ fourth graders convinced the principal, Mr. T. Ray Giles, that this was