One of the gratifying things about being my father’s daughter is when I get email from someone who remembers him with affection and admiration. His time as an assistant principal took place during the years when parents knew–and often demanded–that school discipline could include corporal punishment. This is one of those polarizing topics, but I can honestly say that I’ve never received an email from anyone saying, “YOUR DAD BEAT ME IN SCHOOL AND I HATED HIM.”
I don’t think anyone could say my dad beat him, though maybe someone hated him. I don’t know. It’s not like there was a constant stream of boys being sent to the office or as if paddling was the number one option of punishment. But I’m pretty sure most kids would have opted for one lick of the paddle instead of staying in detention after school, which was torment of the most boring kind.
I still have my dad’s paddles. He always made the offer that a paddle could be signed by anyone on whom it was used. Most of the signatures on both paddles belong to girls. Girls didn’t get paddled for punishment in that high school, so if they wanted to sign the paddle, he’d acquiesce by giving a female student the lightest of taps and then only with a witness present. Usually a male student’s paddling also had a witness, even if Daddy asked his office assistant to step into the hall. The doors had glass panels in them.
On the other hand, if a kid wanted to talk to my father about a problem, my father made sure that discussion took place in private and remained private. When I was talking recently to friends about “what would you do if a young person told you something you thought his or her parents should know,” my response was that I decided long ago that kids could tell me anything, but if it was something I knew would be in their best interest for a parent or a person in authority to know, I would go with them and stay with them as an advocate and intermediary on their behalf. I believe this is something I learned by example, because I know my father never betrayed a confidence. If he shared information with my mother–which I’m pretty sure most people know happens with married people–he did so knowing that she, too, was not inclined to gossip or–literally–tell tales out of school.
Neither of them ever told me anything about my fellow students, dammit. I had to get the scoop like every other teen: inaccurate gossip from other students.
I’ve blurred and covered the names on the paddles in the photo, and I shot them with a pencil to give a sense of scale. If any former student ever wants to know if your name’s there, I’ll be glad to look for it. Frankly, I wasn’t always happy to share my father with you guys–I’m selfish that way–so it’s nice to hear from you and know that you appreciated him.
I was never beaten at school (although my cousin, who went to a Catholic School) got the slipper…
I’ve heard many stories of nuns and rulers. The idea of anything rapping my knuckles gives me shivers.
In the many times I was sent to your Dad’s office (surely a number in the double digits), I don’t remember ever getting a swat. Principal B. got me on more than one occasion, but never your Dad. After offering advice on how to stay out of his office, we usually ended up talking about almost anything but my infractions. He was one of the good guys who, while making sure we always got the point, also always offered some positive words. All my remembrances of him are fond and mostly humorous – ie – the time Principal B. AND your dad caught me with my hand on D. S.’s backside. B was not happy. Your dad struggled to stifle his laughter. The memory makes me smile even now.
I think I know who D.S. is…pondering…
I wonder where Principal B went/ended up. As principals go, he was probably the best of the ones I knew from two high schools. Although JHS had a rocking elderly female assistant principal. Because she’d known and was fond of my sister, when Lynne and I were sent to her office, we didn’t get in trouble. As I recall, when we told her why we’d been sent there, she snorted and said, “Get back to class.”
She’d probably have gotten along great with Daddy.
D. S. – Her brother was on the faculty; think Drivers’ Ed. Mr. B. wound up at Gadsden High for a season, then retired. He died a few years ago.
Aw. I didn’t know he’d died. =( He was a good friend to my father, and I think they were a good team.
Yes, I guessed right about D.S. You scandalous young man!
D.S. had no backside to be held. lol I don’t remember the brown paddle in the picture being brown while “in country”. I do remember the shape of the handle, a “Two Fister” I believe. Virgo’s…
What a memory! Some of the names are so hard to read that I suspect this turned into one of my mother’s “Let’s stain and varnish all the things!” projects.
I see these paddles and still feel the stinging “white heat” as I recall when I had the seat of my trousers swatted ! And the administrator’s [teachers etc] all had personal wooden spanking paddles with names and even the lady teachers made my pants feel like a bonfire out of control…ouch and we almost always got paddled in full view of all students with of course added embarrassment from bratty girls giggling as the swats were delivered…Thanks you rock Becky,made my day reading your blog!