Something a little different from a time when I should have known better. I hope someone enjoys it.
The old buff brick school house.
I have attached an old photo I came across on the web recently. The photo depicts a school building which at one time was a landmark here in town. It was built long ago, and housed the entire school system within it in the early years of its life. My Dad was graduated from the eighth grade in that building, my two brothers and I also served a stretch inside its walls as well.
The school house consisted of two stories and a full basement. Each floor contained classrooms around the perimeter walls with a set of double stairs located in the center of the structure connecting each floor with the basement. Housed within the basement area was the janitor’s room, a small principal’s office, and the building’s source of heat in the form of a huge coal fired forced heat furnace with its myriad of metal chambers and duct work skillfully orchestrated to climb vertically from basement to top floor along each of the perimeter’s walls. Pay close attention to the furnace, for it shall serve as a focal point as events unfold.
I hated school as far back as the time I ever set my foot within one. My Momma had taught me how to both read and write prior to my having set that first foot inside as previously mentioned. I spent my first and second school years primarily helping my distraught teachers by helping the slower kids in class with their lessons, and this was after I had taught them how to read and write. By the end of their second year, all my group were pretty competent in their studies, and could even write fluidly in cursive no less, unlike the majority of high-school kids of today.
School seemed to always bore me for one reason or another, at least until I entered puberty. Once that had happened, parts of the school routine were tolerant.
My seventh grade class year found me in attendance within the walls of the old buff colored brick schoolhouse. By the time of my arrival there, the once hallowed halls were old and falling into various stages of disrepair, thereby enhancing the vulnerabilities and tolls of years of dutiful service to the Owasso School System. The large single pane windows served as a weak defense to the Oklahoma weather they had suffered through so many years. Modern air conditioned air was unheard of, and the giant now antiquated forced heat coal furnace yet remained as a symbolic example of an engineering marvel of the past.
Late each summer, tons and tons of coal were trucked in and unloaded into the coal room located in the building’s basement adjacent to the furnace. For the nearby residents this act served as a notice the school year was nigh.
The early part of my seventh year classes went fairly well. While it remained hot outside, the large windows provided a glimmer of hope for a breeze to amble into the hot classrooms within.
In each of my classes I was seated alphabetically, which in my case I was always at the very back of the class seating arrangement. This worked well until the colder weather set in, then the old windows provided little resistance against the cold wind, rains, and snows of a typical Oklahoma Winter. Freezing and sub-freezing temperatures were the norm whether or not one had to walk six miles uphill to school or not. Suffice it to say the classrooms could get cold, especially on the top floor where the heat from the basement never quite seemed to penetrate as well as it may have in the early years. It was cold. My seat was usually located in a corner of the room so I had to additionally tolerate flow through ventilation from the leaky old windows, otherwise known as a draft.
The “wise” members of the school board had decided to save a little money on their purchase of coal for that school year. They had purchased truck load after truck load of “soft coal” as a fuel for the furnace. Now, many of you may know about coal as a source of heat. For those that don’t, soft and hard coal were two common terms for coal to be burned in those days. Hard coal burned slower and hotter than soft coal, thereby providing an even heat. Hard coal was cleaner burning, and not nearly as smelly as soft coal. The soft coal burned erratically and would not even out in any consistent fashion. Soft coal also emitted a very smelly sulphuric odor, and it was sooty. It was not a good selection to provide heat for a school building…but it cost less money. Our family heated our home with both coal and wood in our cast iron stoves, and I knew the differences in coal. The wise members of the school board apparently did not.
I sat in a top floor class one afternoon, both cold and becoming nauseated from the drafts and the barely warm putrid air coming out through the heat grille in the wall by my desk. The temperature was in the teens outdoors, and didn’t feel much warmer inside where I was sitting. I missed my old sixth grade classroom, for its newer building was heated by a natural gas heating system.
It was about a week until the Christmas break, school sucked, and I could find better things to do with my time than stare at the heat vent while silently praying for warm air to suddenly pour through and thereby warm my shivering body.
I do not remember any lightning bolt or dramatic sign happening as I sat staring at the heat vent, but an idea came to me nevertheless. A great idea it was, or at least it had the promise of turning into one.
That afternoon after school, I ventured into my secret stash of assorted odds and ends that were kept on hand for times such as I was now facing. I knew exactly what I was looking for.
Each summer my older brother, Paul, and I would pool our resources together to lay in a fresh supply of something the two of us really enjoyed throughout the year. Cherry Bombs and M-80’s.
These were the real deal version, gen-u-wine, old fashioned, blow- off- your-fingers-if-you-were-not-careful, Oklahoma Cherry Bomb Fireworks. These were not like the sissy version you saw in later years. These would blow a #303 Del-Monte tin can completely apart with only one being required. For some reason, they were outlawed a couple years later.
Country kids were adept at blowing stuff up. Yeah …those Cherry Bombs would suit the purpose just fine.
Before I proceed any further, I will not admit to any fun experienced through any usage of cherry bombs and a well-aimed slingshot. I also will not admit to any small grass fires having possibly been started in such a manner either. I will admit that tying a stick of dynamite onto an arrow shaft might possibly have been as much fun in the proper situation.
The next day a few former members of my “stash” followed me to school. I had two classes on the top floor after lunch, and it was to be a long wait until then.
The first class of the afternoon was the usual, the same girls closer to the front of the room apparently exercising their arms vying for the teacher to call upon them next, the guys in the mid-section with their book behind another book routine going on, and me sitting at the back watching my breath forming short lived clouds around my desk.
The common odor emitting from the heater vent above the baseboard would mask the smell of a lit fuse very well. The openings in the grill were large enough. All was in its place, it was time for a test run. Here goes nothing….fire in the hole!
The first test run proved to be successful. Within a couple minutes, the teacher from the class below us came to inquire of our teacher about something before returning to her classroom below. The second episode produced a similar result.
During my second class, I stepped up the ante and released two items into the dark metallic chambers towards the abyss below. The discharge of the two items produced even better results when magnified by the metallic confines of the old duct work. Upon verbal commands by the Principal all students were to gather within the cafeteria and hallways in the building next door to us for the remainder of the afternoon. We were not told specifically as to why, but the cafeteria and hallways next door proved to be much warmer than our previous location was.
The next day quantities and specialized fuse lengths were adjusted in the hopes even better results could be obtained. My morning classes experienced a couple “disturbances” to be clearly heard as the metal ducting rang out.
My afternoon classes went very well as I had perfected my method by varying the fuse lengths and amounts accordingly. The sound of the minor explosions and metallic ringing performed flawlessly as they tumbled along their merry way to the furnace below. The school was abuzz with the flurry and noise of quickly moving feet along the steps of the double staircases in the center of the building. We had been calmly told to evacuate the building.
Of course, sitting at the back of the room, I was the last to leave my room, with just enough time to send the last couple of Cherry Bombs on their trip down the heater vent by the teacher’s desk. The resulting noise and echoes were impressive.
The classes in the old buff colored brick schoolhouse were dismissed early for Christmas Break that year. There was not enough class space available for our absorption, and for unknown reasons workmen would have to be brought in to determine what was going on and to ensure our safety.
Three extra days of vacation were a welcomed relief for a cold seventh grader that year.
It was later determined by the County Engineer that soft coal apparently had caused the explosions, quite possibly by the built up gasses within the coal itself, resulting in minor damages to the equipment.
The School Board members must have learned a lesson about trying to save money in the wrong areas. When classes resumed the soft coal had been replaced with good old hard coal … and the classrooms were a mite warmer.
For the record, I was never caught or accused of any involvement whatsoever. They say confession is good for the soul, and it very well may be. As far as Goliath the bull, and cherry bombs were concerned I would never know.
For my classmates…I was merely concerned about their safety and welfare. Well, sort of,…..maybe. Nah, not a damned bit. I was just cold…and tired of school.
The old buff brick school house.
I have attached an old photo I came across on the web recently. The photo depicts a school building which at one time was a landmark here in town. It was built long ago, and housed the entire school system within it in the early years of its life. My Dad was graduated from the eighth grade in that building, my two brothers and I also served a stretch inside its walls as well.
The school house consisted of two stories and a full basement. Each floor contained classrooms around the perimeter walls with a set of double stairs located in the center of the structure connecting each floor with the basement. Housed within the basement area was the janitor’s room, a small principal’s office, and the building’s source of heat in the form of a huge coal fired forced heat furnace with its myriad of metal chambers and duct work skillfully orchestrated to climb vertically from basement to top floor along each of the perimeter’s walls. Pay close attention to the furnace, for it shall serve as a focal point as events unfold.
I hated school as far back as the time I ever set my foot within one. My Momma had taught me how to both read and write prior to my having set that first foot inside as previously mentioned. I spent my first and second school years primarily helping my distraught teachers by helping the slower kids in class with their lessons, and this was after I had taught them how to read and write. By the end of their second year, all my group were pretty competent in their studies, and could even write fluidly in cursive no less, unlike the majority of high-school kids of today.
School seemed to always bore me for one reason or another, at least until I entered puberty. Once that had happened, parts of the school routine were tolerant.
My seventh grade class year found me in attendance within the walls of the old buff colored brick schoolhouse. By the time of my arrival there, the once hallowed halls were old and falling into various stages of disrepair, thereby enhancing the vulnerabilities and tolls of years of dutiful service to the Owasso School System. The large single pane windows served as a weak defense to the Oklahoma weather they had suffered through so many years. Modern air conditioned air was unheard of, and the giant now antiquated forced heat coal furnace yet remained as a symbolic example of an engineering marvel of the past.
Late each summer, tons and tons of coal were trucked in and unloaded into the coal room located in the building’s basement adjacent to the furnace. For the nearby residents this act served as a notice the school year was nigh.
The early part of my seventh year classes went fairly well. While it remained hot outside, the large windows provided a glimmer of hope for a breeze to amble into the hot classrooms within.
In each of my classes I was seated alphabetically, which in my case I was always at the very back of the class seating arrangement. This worked well until the colder weather set in, then the old windows provided little resistance against the cold wind, rains, and snows of a typical Oklahoma Winter. Freezing and sub-freezing temperatures were the norm whether or not one had to walk six miles uphill to school or not. Suffice it to say the classrooms could get cold, especially on the top floor where the heat from the basement never quite seemed to penetrate as well as it may have in the early years. It was cold. My seat was usually located in a corner of the room so I had to additionally tolerate flow through ventilation from the leaky old windows, otherwise known as a draft.
The “wise” members of the school board had decided to save a little money on their purchase of coal for that school year. They had purchased truck load after truck load of “soft coal” as a fuel for the furnace. Now, many of you may know about coal as a source of heat. For those that don’t, soft and hard coal were two common terms for coal to be burned in those days. Hard coal burned slower and hotter than soft coal, thereby providing an even heat. Hard coal was cleaner burning, and not nearly as smelly as soft coal. The soft coal burned erratically and would not even out in any consistent fashion. Soft coal also emitted a very smelly sulphuric odor, and it was sooty. It was not a good selection to provide heat for a school building…but it cost less money. Our family heated our home with both coal and wood in our cast iron stoves, and I knew the differences in coal. The wise members of the school board apparently did not.
I sat in a top floor class one afternoon, both cold and becoming nauseated from the drafts and the barely warm putrid air coming out through the heat grille in the wall by my desk. The temperature was in the teens outdoors, and didn’t feel much warmer inside where I was sitting. I missed my old sixth grade classroom, for its newer building was heated by a natural gas heating system.
It was about a week until the Christmas break, school sucked, and I could find better things to do with my time than stare at the heat vent while silently praying for warm air to suddenly pour through and thereby warm my shivering body.
I do not remember any lightning bolt or dramatic sign happening as I sat staring at the heat vent, but an idea came to me nevertheless. A great idea it was, or at least it had the promise of turning into one.
That afternoon after school, I ventured into my secret stash of assorted odds and ends that were kept on hand for times such as I was now facing. I knew exactly what I was looking for.
Each summer my older brother, Paul, and I would pool our resources together to lay in a fresh supply of something the two of us really enjoyed throughout the year. Cherry Bombs and M-80’s.
These were the real deal version, gen-u-wine, old fashioned, blow- off- your-fingers-if-you-were-not-careful, Oklahoma Cherry Bomb Fireworks. These were not like the sissy version you saw in later years. These would blow a #303 Del-Monte tin can completely apart with only one being required. For some reason, they were outlawed a couple years later.
Country kids were adept at blowing stuff up. Yeah …those Cherry Bombs would suit the purpose just fine.
Before I proceed any further, I will not admit to any fun experienced through any usage of cherry bombs and a well-aimed slingshot. I also will not admit to any small grass fires having possibly been started in such a manner either. I will admit that tying a stick of dynamite onto an arrow shaft might possibly have been as much fun in the proper situation.
The next day a few former members of my “stash” followed me to school. I had two classes on the top floor after lunch, and it was to be a long wait until then.
The first class of the afternoon was the usual, the same girls closer to the front of the room apparently exercising their arms vying for the teacher to call upon them next, the guys in the mid-section with their book behind another book routine going on, and me sitting at the back watching my breath forming short lived clouds around my desk.
The common odor emitting from the heater vent above the baseboard would mask the smell of a lit fuse very well. The openings in the grill were large enough. All was in its place, it was time for a test run. Here goes nothing….fire in the hole!
The first test run proved to be successful. Within a couple minutes, the teacher from the class below us came to inquire of our teacher about something before returning to her classroom below. The second episode produced a similar result.
During my second class, I stepped up the ante and released two items into the dark metallic chambers towards the abyss below. The discharge of the two items produced even better results when magnified by the metallic confines of the old duct work. Upon verbal commands by the Principal all students were to gather within the cafeteria and hallways in the building next door to us for the remainder of the afternoon. We were not told specifically as to why, but the cafeteria and hallways next door proved to be much warmer than our previous location was.
The next day quantities and specialized fuse lengths were adjusted in the hopes even better results could be obtained. My morning classes experienced a couple “disturbances” to be clearly heard as the metal ducting rang out.
My afternoon classes went very well as I had perfected my method by varying the fuse lengths and amounts accordingly. The sound of the minor explosions and metallic ringing performed flawlessly as they tumbled along their merry way to the furnace below. The school was abuzz with the flurry and noise of quickly moving feet along the steps of the double staircases in the center of the building. We had been calmly told to evacuate the building.
Of course, sitting at the back of the room, I was the last to leave my room, with just enough time to send the last couple of Cherry Bombs on their trip down the heater vent by the teacher’s desk. The resulting noise and echoes were impressive.
The classes in the old buff colored brick schoolhouse were dismissed early for Christmas Break that year. There was not enough class space available for our absorption, and for unknown reasons workmen would have to be brought in to determine what was going on and to ensure our safety.
Three extra days of vacation were a welcomed relief for a cold seventh grader that year.
It was later determined by the County Engineer that soft coal apparently had caused the explosions, quite possibly by the built up gasses within the coal itself, resulting in minor damages to the equipment.
The School Board members must have learned a lesson about trying to save money in the wrong areas. When classes resumed the soft coal had been replaced with good old hard coal … and the classrooms were a mite warmer.
For the record, I was never caught or accused of any involvement whatsoever. They say confession is good for the soul, and it very well may be. As far as Goliath the bull, and cherry bombs were concerned I would never know.
For my classmates…I was merely concerned about their safety and welfare. Well, sort of,…..maybe. Nah, not a damned bit. I was just cold…and tired of school.
