# 22 - The Pep Rally

We got a new drama teacher our Senior year. Her name was Miss Lana Crosby. She’d grown up in Duchesne but had gone off to college before the two years I lived there. She had married young and then divorced, finished her degree and come to Himni High School for her first job. She was young, attractive, flamboyant and eager to inaugurate a dynamic speech and drama program.

I was interested in politics so I took her forensic speech class. I was excited to participate in debate tournaments. She had other ideas. Politics was definitely not her thing. She was artsy artsy artsy. She encouraged me to attend the first ever Thespian Club Meeting and I was elected President. I wound up with the lead in the School Play and most of my extracurricular efforts that year were wound around the drama department. Lest you think I had a crush on Miss Crosby, not a chance, that would be reserved for someone else. I promise to share that story with you one of these days.

During basketball season the cheerleaders organized a pep rally. We needed one. The basketball team was an embarrassment and attendance was dropping off fast. Miss Crosby had been a cheerleader at DHS and suggested they do a spoof of Duchesne’s cheerleaders at the rally. They thought it to be a great idea.

The plan was to get some hairy legged boys to pose as DHS cheerleaders and stir up the crowd with some antics. Duchesne had a great ball team that year and I guess the idea was to demystify them a bit. Miss Crosby took charge of the project, which is how I got involved.

She instructed me to find three friends and recruit them to join me in the skit. I was reluctant until she promised makeup sufficient to completely disguise our identities. I recruited Mitch Warner, Douglas Winger and Pee Wee Lundquist. We should have practiced, but never found the time. When it came down to it, we barely found the time to get made up and dressed in our cheerleader outfits. In makeup we sort of talked our way through a couple of ideas. We decided to stuff the bodice of our uniforms with a couple of balloons each. Those were procured and filled things out quite acceptably. We wondered who’d worn these things before Miss Crosby scrounged them up.

Douglas and I were made up as blondes with little heart shaped red lips. We each had shoulder length wigs with bangs, pale makeup base with rosy pink cheeks. We looked like a couple of Scandinavian lasses. Mitch and Pee Wee were done up as brunettes with long brown hair, fully painted lips and long black false eyelashes. I was embarrassed for them, they looked forever like a couple of whores.

It was fun rummaging through Miss Crosby’s huge makeup case for resources. It was like the largest tackle box I ever saw and was crammed with everything imaginable. There were warts, noses, beards, scars, eyelashes, wigs, falls, and pigtails. There were teeth, mustaches, and nose jewe…wait a minute. Those pigtails caught my attention.

Every skit needs a bomb and I had found mine.

We hit the stage with a bang. All made up cute and girl like, except for oversized Converse All-stars, to make us look goofy. Actually, I don’t think the All-stars made that much difference. We cheered and bounced and giggled. Mitch in a damatic effort to look like a spaz, was, and falling, gave himself a nasty floor burn. Blood ran down his hairy leg the remainder of the performance.

After leading the crowd in a rousing cheer we jumped up and down with glee and hugged one another with balloon popping enthusiasm. One of Pee Wee’s didn’t pop though, it just bulged out in an embarrassing manner. That nearly brought down the house.

No one knew why Douglas and I kept our elbows to our sides through all our antics. Some, said they supposed we were just trying to look silly. But, when, during the grand finale, we did raise our arms to expose our braided armpits, the house went wild!

We had glued the pigtails, with Spirit Gum, to our underarm hair. They looked remarkably real. We thought we’d kept it a secret from Mitch and Pee Wee, but they made us. When we stepped forward to expose our Norwegian grooming, they stepped behind us and in one coordinated grab, pulled our braids out by the roots! Whereupon, two blonde cheerleaders, screamed every bit like girls.

The next evening during the big game the crowd had invented a new cheer:

Rip those pits,
Rip those pits,
Forget at about the basketball,
Rip those pits.

Douglas and I were still too sore to put much enthusiasm into it, but oblivious to it’s meaning, Duchesne seemed quite discombobulated by the yell and in an 84 to 81 upset we beat them.

# 21 - Rooney Bloom

I had to quit my job at the IGA in order to attend Boy’s State. I still find it hard to believe they wouldn’t work with me. Maybe they were just looking for an excuse to get rid of me, who knows?

When I got back from Boy’s State I took a job hauling mud in the oil patch for an outfit called Baroid. I didn’t stay there long because it was hard backbreaking work. Throwing a whole semi-trailer load of 100 pound stacks of drilling mud was no picnic. It paid well so I stayed longer than I would have liked. Now-a-days the mud comes either in a bulk tanker or loaded on pallets to be unloaded with a forklift. In those days labor was cheaper than equipment.

The fellow who drove the truck and also threw sacks of mud was named Rooney Bloom. He was a salty old character, who’d lived a pretty tough life, by the looks of him. He was probably in his mid-forties, but back then I had him pegged for mid-sixties. He drank and smoked and to my knowledge never darkened the door of a church. He no longer had a wife and didn’t have much to do with his kids either. Rooney’s whole life was work. He loved it. He did little else. Day in and day out he showed up, put in long hours, didn’t complain and hummed a quiet little non-descript tune all the while.

I can’t say we became buddies or anything. He never said much. I’d try to start a conversation on the long drive out to some remote well location, but I always failed. He didn’t seem much interested in hearing me rattle on about nothing, so I took to napping on the road. I was always tired so it all worked out.

One Monday morning I showed up and found Rooney hadn’t come. Somebody else drove the truck. He told me Rooney had to go to the hospital for some surgery. You didn’t ask what kind of surgery in those days. I still have no idea what was wrong.

After a couple of weeks Rooney was back. He looked a little peeked, but seemed ready and eager to get back on the job. We drove out to Natural Buttes and rumbled through clouds of dust to a location overlooking the White River. After we unloaded the mud, Rooney pulled the rig into the shade of some cottonwoods down by the river so we could cool off over lunch. I asked him, “Did they treat you good?”

“Who”

“The folks at the hospital.”

“Yea!”

“What was it like?

“Pretty good actually!”

“Pretty good? What do you mean?”

“Them pretty nurses gave me a sponge bath every day!”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yup, they’d bring in soap and water and lotion. Then they’d uncover me down as far as possible and wash me all up. It felt so good.”

“I’ll bet,” I replied.

“Then , they’d pull the blankets back up, nice and snug and go down by my feet and uncover me up as far as possible and wash my feet and legs. Oooh, that felt good...
Then, I’ll be derned if they didn’t wash Old Possible TOO!”

# 20 - "We Want A Mat Dance!"

My Sophomore year was a challenge. After being big fish in a little pond at the Jr. High, now we were little fish in a big pond. Actually, I never was a big fish at the Jr. High, so I felt especially small at the High School. Playing football in the fall had helped some. I had toughened up, but what good is tough when you still only weigh 105 pounds! Mostly, I laid low and kept out of the way.

One day in the Spring, though, I discovered there is great power in numbers. It was a lesson I would never forget.

I don’t know who started it. As things like this happen, it really doesn’t matter. After lunch, as I was wandering back to class, I discovered a bunch of kids sitting against the wall on the floor of the hallway outside the Principal’s office. They were chanting, “We want a Mat Dance!”

A Mat Dance or Matinee Dance was an occasional occurrence at Himni High. Classes would be shortened to free up an hour, maybe even two in the afternoon for a dance in the gym. We all loved them. Not necessarily because we loved to dance, but any excuse to get out of the classroom was great. Often Mat Dances were a carrot to motivate us in some way. They usually worked.

I wanted a Mat Dance so I joined the chanting crowd. “We want a Mat Dance.” “We want a Mat Dance…..”

Pretty soon it seemed the whole school, minus Marcy Merriweather was chanting in the halls. We lined almost the entire length of the main hall. I guess most of the kids knew what was going on but I didn’t really have a clue. Mr. Steckler came out of his office after a few minutes of this and instructed us to get to class. Those closest to him acted as if he hadn’t said a word. They stared him down and he retreated to his office. I’d have cowered at his command and skedaddled to class in a heart beat, had I been alone. Instead, as the crowd stayed, so did I. I looked around for some of my pals, but none were in sight. Even though I was isolated from my friends, I felt sort of empowered by this rebellion and was getting pretty excited.

The first bell rang, we chanted on. When the second bell rang Mr. Steckler returned to the hall. His face was red with frustration. He wasn’t a powerful man by any stretch of the word. He had a situation he needed to handle, it was going badly and he was not prepared to deal with it. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “If you are not all back in class by the time I count to three, so help me, I’ll flunk every last Jack one of you!” I still don’t know what Jack had to do with it.

“One!”

“Two!” No one flinched except Mr. Steckler. Beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead began to trickle.

As “Three” escaped his lips a loud and simultaneous shout of “April Fools!” drowned it out. In an instant, we vanished to our respective classrooms, chuckling at our clever prank. I too was chuckling and somewhat exhilarated, but there was this nagging dismay. I hadn’t even known what was going on. “April Fools” was as big a surprise to me as it was to Mr. Steckler. As I ducked into Mr. Olson’s class I glanced back to see the Principal still standing there, in shock.

That afternoon went along as usual until the end of fifth period. As there was no intercom, a girl was sent around to read a message to each class. We were to meet in the Old Gym at the beginning of sixth hour. The general consensus was that we’d achieved our goal of a Mat Dance!

When the bell rang we wasted no time getting down there and seated.

The Old Gym was built along with the “new” Himni High School. The School Board had not anticipated the impact the oil industry would have on our community and so in just a few years the facility underwent a major expansion. Added were: several classrooms, and new cafeteria, the library was moved to the old lunch room, an auditorium and, of course, a new spacious gymnasium. For events like dances we still favored the Old Gym. It was a bit cozier and the coaches had less angst about it’s hardwood floor. The Old Gym was quite small. It had two rows of benches on each side of the playing floor and a large set of fold out bleachers on the stage. We all situated our selves on the stage bleachers and on the west side benches nearest the stage. I was actually sitting on the front edge of the stage at the west end. The faculty and administration seated them selves on the east side benches near the entrance to the gym, near the east end of the stage. A microphone on a stand had been set up in front of the teachers.

Mr. Steckler stepped to the mike, cleared his voice and explained that Mr. Parker, the Vice Principal, who also, of course, was my Dad had an important announcement to make.

Dad took his place with an unusually, somber look on his face. He too, uncharacteristically, cleared his voice. “It may come as a surprise to you that this is and EDUCATIONAL institution.!” He sounded angry. “The incident in the hall this afternoon has reminded us that the student body has largely lost track of this fact. We have determined, therefore, to make some changes to ensure the educational integrity of Himni High School. We have met, therefore, to inform you that as of this moment, the Student Council has been abolished! In addition all classes involving sports, music, dance, drama and art have been discontinued as well as all future extracurricular activities! It is our intent….”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” came an angry voice from the bleachers. “THAT’S COMMUNISM!”

I looked to see who it was. Rick Majors was racing from the stands. His fists were clenched and his face was red with rage. Rick was our Student Body President/Quarterback/Heartthrob/Straight A Student.

“THE HECK WE CAN’T!” shouted Mr. Parker. “WE’VE ALREADY DONE IT!”

Rick crossed the hardwood in a flash and with one right cross, decked my Dad. Who went down like a ton of bricks. Mom was kneeling at his side almost instantly.

I, on the other hand, was paralyzed with fear. Rick’s bravado had spurred the student body and they were hot on Rick’s heels in a seething pursuit of justice. This furious, raging mob was going to massacre the faculty, including my beloved Mom and Dad! In my memory it seems like slow motion, kind of a bleary streak of greasy hair, white T-shirts, pegged blue jeans exposing five inches of white socks and black oxford shoes all storming pell-mell toward disaster.

The horde made it about half way across the gym floor when Mr. Steckler flung the contents of a large pasteboard box at them. It was a colorful cascade of Salt Water Taffy accompanied by a victorious shout of APRIL FOOLS!

The mob skidded to a confused, chaotic halt. Know one knew what to do next.

Mom had looked up from patting Dad’s cheek to see what had happened. When she looked back she saw this huge cheesy grin on his face. She slapped him so hard she knocked his false teeth across the floor. In awkward silence the students began picking up the candy, more like they were cleaning up a mess than racing for goodies. Mom stormed out of the gym in a fury, Dad in desperate pursuit. Rick was sitting on the east side bench with his face in his hands.

The music began and Mr. Steckler, like he didn’t even know what had just happened, announced, “ENJOY YOUR MAT DANCE!”

We didn’t - we couldn’t.