Trouble in a History Class (Cont.)
Screen 3 of 3"Who did it? Who did it? Who fired that shot?" she demanded as she planted her six-foot frame squarely in the front of the room, glowering down at all of us--first as a group, then at each one in turn. Oh, how that woman could look straight through a person: she seemed even taller and more ominous than usual, as she directed her gaze straight at me. I felt sure she thought I had "fired that shot," but she didn't say so and I volunteered no information.
Silence--just dead silence. No one spoke, not even Mr. Oller who by this time had slowly turned away from the window and was looking blankly at 'Miss Nina,' the name she preferred over "Miss McGinnis."
"Well, Mr. Oller, you surely heard that gunshot. Where did it come from? Who could possibly have committed such a heinous crime right here in our beloved school building?" (When I later looked up the word "heinous" in the dictionary, I became convinced I would surely be put in the penitentiary!)
"I don't know, Miss McGinnis," Mr. Oller responded in somewhat of a daze. "I really do not know. I was thinking about the "our gun" forest when it happened."
At the time, I did not know what he was talking about. I had never heard of an "our gun" forest. But several weeks later when we read about World War I, "The War to Save the World for Democracy," I found out. I learned all about the Argonne (not "our gun" as I had at first thought) Forest, Chateau Thierry, and the famous Maginot Line in France. I also found out from another teacher at that time that Mr. OIler had been seriously wounded in that war by shrapnel from an exploding bomb! But I knew none of this on the day I created all the trouble in his history class. No wonder he had stiffened and jerked.
Miss Nina kept repeating the question, "Who did it?" but she was answered only by silence. If she had asked me directly, "Chester, did you make that noise?" I feel sure I would have admitted it; for my strict upbringing had instilled in me a great respect for the truth. But it never came to that point. She did not ask me or any other student individually and none of us spoke up. (Several months later, when my mother found out--from me--that I had caused the trouble and had not admitted it when Miss Nina asked the whole class, she told me in no uncertain terms that I had been just as wrong as if I had told an outright lie. Perhaps she was right, but I was too young then and am too old now to ponder that moral question.)
"Well," Miss Nina said emphatically, "if I don't find out exactly who did it, I'll just punish all of you in this class." Still only silence, accompanied by some quizzical side glances from one student to another. During this awkward silence, Miss Nina was examining the walls and floor quite carefully, as though she was looking for something in particular.
"Mr. Oller," she was speaking to him but not looking in his direction, "I don't find any holes anywhere--not in the ceiling, walls or floor. How can that be? Could the gun have been fired through that open window where you are standing?"
"It might have been," he replied quietly, "but nothing hit me, and I heard no bullets going by me."
She just ignored his remark with a look of amazement. It must not have been the first time Miss Nina realized that Mr. Oller was not in control of what went on in his history classes.
Somewhat calmer now but obviously still angry, this woman whom we all respected--yet feared, slowly drew herself up to her full six feet, folded her arms across her breast, and stood resolutely in front of us for a few moments without saying anything. Her long-sleeved, high-neck dress of black taffeta almost touching the floor, worn with such dignity and aplomb by Miss Nina, together with her piercing eyes and firmly set jaw, made it quite clear that she was in charge. No one doubted that, and we were not surprised when she announced her decision.
"For such inexcusable behavior on the part of just one student," she began, "be it boy or girl, the punishment would be to stay after school one hour every day for six weeks--a total of thirty hours." Pausing briefly while she looked us all over once again, she then continued, obviously in no hurry to relieve the tension.
"But since we do not know the individual who did it, I'll keep this entire class of thirty pupils after school today for one hour." For some reason, she always called us "pupils," not "students". Then to our surprise and disappointment she added, "Mr. Oller will not stay with you. I will! All of you will report at exactly three o'clock to the classroom across the hall from my office. And each of you is to bring several pencils and plenty of tablet paper, because during that hour you will be working on algebra problems which I will assign to you."
Just as she finished, the school bell rang, and we all left the room silently and in good order, with poor Mr. Oller still gazing silently out the window.
The incident was over, but I've certainly not forgotten it. I must have learned my lesson well, for I never again brought any "firearms" to Bowling Green High School--for at least two reasons: I didn't want to go through such an ordeal again; and also, I felt sure Miss Nina--that remarkable woman--would surely catch me the next time.
Chester C. Travelstead
P. S. Those of my class who were "good" at algebra were allowed to leave at four o'clock that afternoon. I was permitted to leave at four thirty when I finished the ten problems. I remember the time because I was late getting to my newspaper route at the Times Journal and as a result received a harsh "lecture" fro the circulation manager.
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