The last two years of my grade school days were spent in a catholic school, where the principal made it very clear who was boss. I remember the first time I had it presented to me when one day a couple of eighth graders were fooling around during the absence of the math teacher. When she came into the room she found them busy talking to each other when they were supposed to be working on some math problems. The problem began for them that very moment.

"Were you not told to get busy on these math problems while I left the room?

"Yes, sister," they answered.

"Then why did I find you talking to each other. I thought I made it perfectly clear that I wanted no talking while I was gone, didn't I?

"Yes, sister."

Well then, gentlemen, I think you should go to the office and tell the principal what you have been up to. Now leave!"

The two boys left the classroom quietly, sort of rubbing the butt of their while levi's as they left. They knew, and so did we, that they were going to get "Oscar," the paddle, when they got down there.

It was't but a few minutes later, when our class was interrupted by the voice of Sister Principal over the PA.

"Gentlemen, since you don't seem to want to take directions clearly from your teacher, then perhaps you willl take them from me. Bend over!"

The next sound we heard was "Whack, whack, whack...whack, whack, whack." The whole class heard these two get paddled, and so too, probably the rest of the seventh and eighth grades.

From that day on, I lived in fear of getting "Oscar", as we called the principal's paddle.

I remember another time when the principal was teaching a class on _s_e_x_. ed. George, one of my neighbors, who we walked to school with each day, was feeling like a pretty big kid. He had already chosen to break the school rules that day by wearing blue jeans to school. He fit real tight into those faded "Foremost" jeans, so tight I wondered how he could breathe. I don't know what it was that set her off with George, but all of a sudden she just asked him what he thought was so funny about what she was teaching.

"Nothing, sister, " he replied.

"Nothing. Then why do you have that smirk on your face? Now what's so funny. Tell the whole class.

George didn't have a reply at the time, but no reply only seemed to anger her all the more.

"Get out of here, NOW," she shouted to him, "and get over there to the office."

George left, and she continued to teach the class, but I knew George was in for it. He was going to get Oscar for sure. And for sure he did. As soon as we moved on to the next class, we were interrupted by her voice over the PA,

"Now young man, you're going to get just what you deserve."

WHACK, WHACK WHACK! The sound of George getting paddled was heard throughout the halls and over the PA in our class. You never heard him say anything, but from the sounds of the swats, it must have hurt. He came back into the classroom a few minutes later, and very quietly took his place back on his chair, but this time there was no smirk, and he moved just a little slower when he sat down on those tight-fitting jeans. I was afraid to ask him later how it felt. I could just imagine.

There were many times when we were all threatened with a visit with Oscar. I thought I was going to get it one time when I forgot my homework for the second day in a row, and got sent down to the principal with a written message. But for some reason the nun who sent me must have felt sorry for me, because whatever was on the note didin't seem to apply to me. But I was scared, nonetheless.

One time the principal paddled a whole bunch of guys for wearing cologne to school. She had every boy who was wearing cologne stand up, and when about twenty guys stood up, she ordered them to go to the office, where I am told she lectured them about growing up too fast, and getting "too big for theif britches," and then one by one, she gave every one of them three licks with Oscar, my friends included. They are the ones who told me about it, and how it really hurt. Sister Principal could swing one hell of a mean paddle!

Like I said, I managed to get througjh seventh and eighth grade without ever getting Oscar, but the crack of that paddle over the PA left a lot of memories for me of growing up in a Catholic School. One Last Story: of an eighth grader at the time (my class). Dave had some smart answer for the Principal in science class. Whatever it was, she threw him oout of class, and followed right behind him We all knew he'd get Oscar, but boy were we surprised when he got what he got.

"Mr., I have put up with enough today, and I am not going to take anythng from you. "

Normally you got three swats, but not that day. The sound coming out of that little box on the wall was not WHACK, WHACK, WHACK! but rather: WHACK WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK! We were all surprised. He got eight whacks to his blue-jeaned butt.

When he came back into the classroom, we were kind of in awe of the guy. He never showed a tear or anything at all. He simply sat down very slow and easy on the wooden seat of his desk. We knew his butt was really burning.

I thiink back to those days of yore...probably30 some years ago. Now days they can't paddle you anymore in the Catholic schools in Ohio. It's forbidden But still, I sometimes wonder what it would have been like to have to bend over and grab my ankles and get Oscar. I most likely would have passed out right there on the spot, but I'll never know. Still....it sure would be interesting to get the sting of the paddle on my tight-fitting blue jeans or a pair of tight-fitting white levi's. OUCH! I can almost feel it now!