At the risk of inciting the wrath of the PC police, today's memory is about the paddle that hung by the chalkboard, and the discipline it inspired.
I was a class clown. No, let me rephrase that. I was THE class clown. Ergo, I was quite familiar with that wooden implement that usually had holes drilled in it "to lower wind resistance" one teacher told me. It would also be sinisterly marked with bold colors to get your attention while it hung from the wall right where you could see it.
Occasionally, the teacher would use it. More often, getting a student's attention and merely pointing to it would cause a potential disturbance-creator to settle down quickly.
The paddle accompanied my school days from first grade through my senior year in high school. And yes, I was familiar with the procedure involved in getting yourself a needed dose of corporal punishment.
My first grade teacher, Mrs. Cottam, would simply bend you over your desk and give you a single swat. She knew just how much oomph to put into it to gently cause a six-year-old to see the error of his ways. I only got one paddling from her that I recall. That was all I needed.
As I grew older, my propensity to entertain others made me a semi-regular recipient of "learning sessions." By junior high, the procedure was modified a bit. You would be marched out to the hall and told to wait. The teacher would go get another to act as a witness, then would make you grab your ankles.
Different teachers had different pain-producing-levels. Students would spread the word among themselves as to whose paddlings were walks in the park and whose classes you DIDN'T DARE act up in.
My biggest shock was from Mr. Smith, my algebra teacher. He was a little guy who was very methodical in his educating, drawing lots of formulas on the board and teaching straight out of the book. He was also seemingly oblivious to the acting up that went on non-stop in his class. Of course, that made fertile soil for yours truly to plant my wild oats of clowning.
Well, one day, out of the blue, I guess he decided he'd had enough. So he marched a fellow goof and myself to the office. We both chuckled along the way. The whole school knew that the principal didn't have much of a backswing.
To our surprise, diminutive Mr. Smith wielded the paddle. This was going to be even easier! I volunteered to go first. I bent over the desk. Mr. Smith proceeded to smack my rear so hard that my face hit wood!
I was stunned. I don't think I even felt the next one. When I looked at my partner in crime, he was already crying.
When word got around of the sheer force behind Mr. Smith's paddle, his class suddenly became quite well-behaved.
Today, of course, paddling is evil, monstrous, horrible, and, most important of all, Politically Incorrect. One website I found has a table showing the number of students who have been "battered," not paddled, over the years. I don't know why they're worried about it. It's been banned in every school district that I know of.
But we Boomer kids remember when our teachers had paddles, and weren't afraid to use them.
Comments (4)
Indeed, we prob experienced that very last ebbing
of the paddling era. I almost find it hard to believe that we were paddled after so many years
of PC. For us it was the fear of it that was the operative motivation, rather than the force.
As FDR said, "The only thing we have to fear,
is, the fear of the PADDLE itself). My only padding was for calling principle Carter, "Carter
Farter". Not to his face, but to a student, surely a future member of the John Birch society,
who decided to narc on me for mentioning it.
I was subjected to a guilt-provoking questioning was to how I could possibly utter such blasphamy,
after which a got a VERY light paddling(BTW, anyone remember the "Earache my Eye" paddling
on the Cheech and Chong record? Principle Carter
didn't come close to the horsewhipping on that record, trust me on this). Repentant, and, I guess, a little bit less likely to pass on personal asides to Ken Piestro, life went on...
Posted by scott | September 20, 2007 8:12 AM
Posted on September 20, 2007 08:12
It isnt TOTALLY a babyboomer memory in some regions. Im from South Carolina, amd 28, and felt the paddle in 11th grade. I do support it because I found it effective, but your story makes me wonder. If it worked, why did you need it SO often? My experience was one I certainly didnt want to repeat :)
Posted by Angela | September 20, 2007 12:34 PM
Posted on September 20, 2007 12:34
I was given my first swat on the butt while in the 4th grade in Joplin,Mo.I didn't even know it was coming.I was half way standing and leaning over the shoulder of the kid who sat in front of me pestering him about who knows what when BLAM. Mrs. Nathan was a wonderful teacher and and I still often think of her.
Posted by Steven Koons | September 25, 2007 10:18 PM
Posted on September 25, 2007 22:18
When I see the way kids act today, and the lack of respect they have for others, not to mention the things that go on in streets and schools (gone are the days when chewing grape flavored Bazooka bubble gum was a major issue), I think it must have been Satan, himself, who went around and hid all the paddles!
Posted by NCeddie | November 23, 2008 6:10 AM
Posted on November 23, 2008 06:10