Things High School Seniors Do

As the summer heat and humidity wilts flowers, turns green grass to brown, I find myself needing to get out of bed earlier than I normally would on Saturday mornings so I can cut the grass. Before the rising temperatures take a toll on me, all I can think about is finding a cool place to be or better yet, a swimming pool to escape from the paralyzing furnace known as Summer. Summer in Kansas can mean there are days when it is dreadfully hot and other days when the humidity is low and the days and nights are pleasant enough to sit on the deck where I can read, write a few stories, and pass the time trying to forget about work and the day-to-day grind we all find ourselves dealing with as adults.

So many times over the years I have fondly recalled the joys of summer. As an adult it may be an opportunity to go on vacation, head to the beach but primarily is just another season and oftentimes does not constitute the same relaxed, lazy days of doing nothing for days on end. At least not for most of us. As summer approaches each year, I have often found myself humming the theme song to the old Bill Murray film, Meatballs. “Are you ready for the sunshine, Are you ready for the good times?”

Siting on my deck recently, I was thinking back to May of 1982 when 97 young men and women at Patterson High School were about to leave youth behind and go out and face the world. All of the ‘stress’ of studying, taking tests, being on time for class,  and dealing with peer pressure were about to end with graduation. This would be our chance to enjoy one last summer of freedom before we looked for a full-time job, went off to college, or started learning a trade at a vocational training school.
My classmates and I had filed into the gymnasium at the high school to rehearse for our graduation ceremony that was to take place a few days later at the end of the month. This day, like others during the last few weeks of May were spent finishing up classes, avoiding as much school work as possible, preparing for the pomp and circumstance of graduation, and occasionally skipping class to go across the bayou to cook out, have some drinks, and swim to beat the heat. On this particular day, we knew we weren’t going to be at school all day so some of us guys were planning on spending the afternoon swimming in the bayou.

Going across the old gray bridge that connected Bridge Road with miles of sugar cane fields, a levy system that kept the Atchafalaya Basin at bay near Wilson’s Landing and the numerous oil fields, there was a city park where we would go and hang out. When I was a boy, this was where my dad and I would launch our boat to go fishing. Next to the park was a big open area that we called the Shell Pile because it was where barges laden with rocks, sand, gravel, and shells were off loaded on to the ground and later used for various road projects, construction jobs, oilfield related business and so forth.

I can’t remember who suggested it, but Jaret Rentrop and I decided it would be a fun to see if we could dodge crew boats, bass boats, shrimp boats and swim to the dilapidated wharf on the other side of the Bayou. No one else was brave enough or crazy enough, probably the latter, to join us so we ran and dove into the water and started swimming.

Eager to show we were up to the challenge of making it across, Jaret and I thrashed through the brownish-green water with lots of energy and enthusiasm. Laughter and hoots and howls came from our peers who were hanging out on land. We were all smiles until we got half way across the bayou. Our legs started turning to rubber, our lungs burned, and the remnants of what we had eaten and drank held suspended between our stomachs and throats. I was tired so I started treading water, trying to preserve my energy. When that energy ran out, I started floating on my back, kicking with my feet. This helped but it was also scary because my ears were under water and I couldn’t hear, much less see the threat of a boat if it came near us. One way or another, Jaret and I made it across. At a distance of 490 feet, our pride probably saved us from drowning–our stupidity put us there in the first place.

 

Interesting enough, the Bayou Teche is where I first leaned how not to drown. One day when I was 6 or so, I was hanging out on a wharf behind the Patterson Pantry with some older kids from church. My parents were inside the house of the kids I was playing with and I guess they felt I would be fine since I was with kids who were older. Plus, these were good Southern Baptist kids so what could possibly go wrong? The older kids were playing in the water, hanging close to the wharf. I was too young to get in the water without an adult and I didn’t have a life preserver to wear so I had to sit and watch. At some point, one of the kids thought it would be funny to throw me into the bayou and force me to swim.

Well it wasn’t funny and I nearly drowned but somehow I dog-paddled my way to one of the wood piling.  Crying and coughing up the residue of engine oil and dirty water which was ripe with the smell of dead fish that lingers on the surface of the bayou, I hung on and stayed afloat long enough to find a way out of the water. That event was traumatic but it was motivation enough for me to take swimming lessons at Ed Kyle’s camp the next summer.

As much as we enjoyed being on the river either at the Shell Pile or swimming from the dock behind Angel Guzzino’s house, we did have to wrap up school and graduate. The tradition of graduating from high school is a big event. It should be in my opinion. This may be the end of a formal education for some, the end of friendships you may have had since first or second grade, and many times it’s the moment when a person leaves their hometown to live and work in another city, never to return.

The night I graduated from high school was the last night I spent in the town I grew up in as I moved to Houma, LA the next day. At the time, maybe I didn’t appreciate the gift of having a simple, respectful graduation ceremony in my high school gymnasium. Now I do. I was disgusted recently reading how there were fights in the bleachers at different high school graduations this past May. One was in Louisiana and resulted in the arrests of several people. Because of the selfishness and foolishness of some, they had to ruin a wonderful tradition for others. As I read about this event, I had to silently say a prayer of thanks for our principal Mr. Ernest McMurray. He did not and would not have allowed such behavior.

The day we were rehearsing for graduation Mr. McMurray laid down the rules. From the dress code to the order of the ceremony to how we were expected to behave. Sure he wanted us to enjoy ourselves and celebrate but you can be happy and celebrate and be civil all at the same time.  I remember him telling us he would be handing us our diploma cover, not our actual diplomas when we went across the stage to shake his hand when our name was called. Basically, he was saying if we wanted to act like a fool there would be consequences. No one in my class misbehaved. No one showed up in blue jeans, no one wrote obscene words across their caps, no one walked across the stage with their gown unzipped. Everyone received their diploma, graduated as they were supposed to and went from there into the world to make their mark on it.

A few days before graduation, my friend Todd Fontenot and I left school to do a little shopping at Cannata’s Supermarket in Bayou Vista. We were shopping for the supplies we would need for the senior trip we were taking to Fort Walton Beach, Florida the following week. Earlier that spring, a group of us got together and decided to rent a condo on the beach to celebrate graduating from high school. We knew others in our class who were going to the same place so we too made plans. We put together our money and Todd, myself, Lisa Aucoin, Sandy Clostio, Peggy Grimball, Janice Rochel and Debbie Sehon rented a two-bedroom place for the week. My memory is a little foggy right now but I don’t remember if we purchased any food for the trip. Someone did because food showed up at the condo but Todd and I purchased the beverages for the week.

Todd had a red 2-door, Chevy Monza and after our shopping trip I’m surprised we had room for luggage. Todd drank beer and I was a cheap wine drinker at the time. I’m not saying I am proud of my drinking habits at that age, but at $2.07 a bottle for some fine TJ Swan apple wine, I was on my way to becoming the class sommelier at the tender age of 18. I could pair the finest wines: TJ Swan, Boone’s Farm, MD 2020 and such with even the fanciest foods served at Pizza Hut, Burger King and even Tampico’s. Any and all rumors of Carla Cardinals and I pairing TJ Swan wine and enchiladas at Tampico’s a few hours before our school play my senior year are simply rumors. I will not even dignify such accusations, rumors, innuendos. All preacher’s kids have an angelic reputations and I don’t want anyone to think otherwise.

So graduation came and went and in two cars we set off on that Monday morning, heading for a week of sun, sand, ocean and the last time this group of friends could make memories together. Todd and I rode in his car and the girls drove together in another car. Driving along Interstate 10 we passed and were passed by other classmates heading to the same destination. With the occasional honks and cheers and mooning from time to time, we arrived at the condo and got ready to unload the two cars. Todd jumped out and headed to the condo office to sign the papers and get the keys. After a little while I decided to get out of the car myself to look around but I didn’t want to leave our precious cargo unattended so I decided to lock the car. Of course I didn’t check first to see if the car keys were still in the ignition which they were so a few minutes after arriving in Fort Walton Beach, we were calling a locksmith in order to get back into Todd’s car to unload. There went $30 bucks right off the bat.

It didn’t take long for us to settle in, find the beach, find the booze, find other classmates and start having fun. I am quite sure thousands of other high school seniors had more adventures, raised more hell, got in more trouble and did who knows what, but for us, we had a great week with only a few mishaps and I can honestly say our week was pretty much rated PG the entire time. I have to apologize to the kids of my classmates and tell you I don’t have any hidden dirt on your parents. Besides a little drinking, late night swims, pay one price nights at Cash’s bar, it was a pretty tame week.

Saying that I want to explicitly, adamantly neither confirm nor deny the following rumors that circulated during the week and the months following our senior trip.

There is no truth to the following rumors:

One evening Lisa, Sandy, Debbie, Peggy, Janice and myself came back to the condo to find the contents of a half dozen or so boxes of cereal scattered over every inch of the condo including the furniture, carpet, kitchen counters, beds, etc. and also finding Todd Fontenot passed out on the couch.

One night all of the sheets in the apartment were used for a Toga party and that Todd and myself went commando under those sheets and were seen on the beach doing the gator dance as perfected in the movie Animal House.

Some classmates may have hooked up with other members from our senior class for a night or two of making out on the beach.

Twenty-seven bottles of wine were transported across state lines.

Sandy Clostio took photographs of people doing stupid poses on a couch in the condo including a certain individual who decided to stand on his head. Wait, that one is true. I have that photograph.

To my friends and classmates from the class of 1982, thank you for the wonderful memories, the laughter, the sharing of our lives and of course the lifelong friendships.

Are you ready for the sunshine?
Are you ready for the birds and bees,
the apple trees,
and a whole lot of fooling around

Are you ready for the summer?
Are you ready for the hot nights?
Are you ready for the fireflies,
the moonlit skies,
and a whole lot of fooling around

No more pencils, no more books
No more teachers dirty looks
No more math and history,
Summer time has set us free

Are you ready for the summer?
Are you ready for the good times?…