P.A.M.A. Files: Episode 2 – The Fat Kid loses some weight and survives his first week at Military School

Introduction

I survive my initial week at school. Get to know some of my teachers, and drop a few pounds.

It soon became apparent to me that there were some kids at school that were more screwed up than me. Which was hard to believe considering what a head case I had been prior to entering the Academy.

But it was sadly true. There appeared to be three groups of kids at the Academy. The first one were the ones who needed a little boost from a good education. The second were kids who were troubled, needed discipline and a good kick in the pants. The third were the hopeless or unwanted. I fell somewhere in the low end of the second group.

Call it a survival mechanism but something miraculous occurred when I began my journey at the Academy. I became determined that I was going to climb my way into the first group and do my damndest to try and excel in my class. Like I said in my prior episode – I had been given the gift of a “Do-over,” and I was really going to apply myself and make Rick and Mom proud of me. And in the process gain a little respect for myself.

This proved to be quite a challenge. I was fat so athletics proved to be challenging, and I had never really “focussed’ on school studies due to my daydreaming temperament.

But to spur me on was the structure of the school and I soon began to adapt to my new environment.

Also like any culture, there was a pecking order within the school. The weakest were looked upon with contempt. And while there was no overt hazing or bullying – kids pretty much figured out who the screw-ups were and treated them accordingly.  

Kids can be cruel. There is no way I can sugar coat that fact. They would shun, gossip about and tease those kids who were “problematic” 

Fortunately, the staff kept a lid on things so situations never got out of hand. After all, they had seen the same types of kids march through their doors, and make their way through the grades till graduation. Those kids who flourished were acknowledged with awards and privileges, those kids who just got by were benignly tolerated and those kids who were unable to “get with the program” rarely lasted more than a few months – before being sent home. 

I remember some of the teasing and I have to say sometimes it could be downright funny that is if you were a spectator and not the subject of the derision. 
Here are some examples of “teasing” I saw the first couple of weeks of school:

One kid named “Brooks” had these enormous ears that would stick out from the sides of his head like jug handles. In the study hall, there was this kid named Lackmeyer who always sat behind him. The tormentor would flick one the kid’s ears and tauntingly say – “Brook, Brook, Brook” like a chicken clucking. Brook would just turn around and glare at his tormentor and tell him to “knock it off” until the teasing stopped. Of course, it would start up again during another class. “Brook, Brook, Brook!” More glaring by Brooks until the tormenting little so-and-so cooled it.

Another kid had a hernia, and of course, some wiseacre in study hall would moan this long taunt that went “Herrrrrrnnnnnnn!” The guy with the hernia would say “Shut up Peterson!” And there would be this break for a few minutes until the snickering died down, then it would start up again – “Herrrrrrnnnnnnn!”  “Shut up Peterson!” More laughter would ensue.

In my class 7B, one of the kid’s Dad owned a truck driving business. So one of the boys would say in this loud hillbilly accent “I grease my Daddy’s Trucks!” This really cracked us all up as the tormentee had a reputation for having a penchant for uh…. onanism. We’d hoot, laugh and give each other fives – Until the teacher told us to quiet down and open our books.

So as you can see it wasn’t bad by today’s standards where kids can really bully one another via social media. And a lot of times the teasing was done in a good-natured way. It was just a given that guys liked to tease each other. 

Anyway, for some reason, I can’t remember ever being teased about my weight despite my obvious round “Pugsly” physique at school.

As the first weeks progressed the weight was slowly starting to drop off me despite my eating 3 square meals a day and that was probably due to all the activity and PE. Thank God!

During PE Coach Genaro would run after us and encourage the slowpokes, like me to catch up with the rest of the joggers. I will always remember Coach G. bellowing loudly about the time we had left to finish an exercise. “FIVE MINUTES! FOUR MINUTES! THREE MINUTES! TWO MINUTES!!” He’d holler as we exercised frantically as his stopwatch ticked away.

Now I want to take a little detour and talk about Coach Genaro for a moment since he was one of my favorite staff members from the school.

Coach G. was one of my heroes at the Academy. He was probably the best coach I have ever had the pleasure of working with. He was patient, he had a great sense of humor,  and he was also a great listener. To top it off when I knew him he was going to college full time I think. So the man had to study, coach and deal with us kids.

Coach G. also had this Bitchin’ Road Runner which he’d drive to school. Most of us kids would enviously watch his car cruise around the campus from one of the fire escapes.  And I have to tell ya –  I think we All wanted a cool car like that back in 1970.

One of my fondest memories – was three years later and I was soon to graduate from 9th grade. I had a couple of months left at the Academy and the school was scheduled to close and move to another campus down in San Jose. It was going to be the end of me getting a private school education and an end of an era for the Academy.

Taps had been blown, and it was after 10 pm at night – I couldn’t sleep. So I trucked down to the staff office which was on the 2nd floor in Hough Hall. Anyhoo, Coach G. had Staff Duty that night – meaning he had to keep an eye on us miscreants that night till reveille. He was up studying, smoking Marlboros and drinking black coffee.

I wandered into the office and asked if he was busy. Yeah, well of course he was – he was studying, but he put that aside and we chatted for almost two hours. Like I said Coach G. was a cool guy. He even let me smoke one of his cigarettes.

During our talk, he told me this hilarious story about how he had been on staff duty a few weeks ago and had been making the rounds in the building  – just to make sure we were all sleeping and staying out of trouble. 

Now, in the barracks, each room had doors for privacy,  but for obvious reasons, none of them had door nobs or locks. Just holes where the door nobs would have been. This allows the staff to enter and exit the rooms without worrying about kids locking them out.

So Coach G. was making his rounds in Hough Hall when some joker decides to stick his erect manhood through the hole at him. 

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Coach what the hell did you do?” I laughed.

“Well, I did a backhanded slap with my clipboard right on it and continued on my way!” he laughingly told me.

I busted up over that one and laughed all the way back to my room. It was a great story and it kind of illustrated Coach Genaro’s unflappable personality.

Sadly I heard he passed away a few years back and I think the world is an emptier place without him. He was a great guy and cool Dude.

Okay, back to where I left off.

Although we had daily inspections and formations the bulk of our days were taken up by classes overseen by our Dean of Education, Dr. Fenton.

Dr. Fenton was a tall, thin man, white-haired gentleman, a real Ichabod Crane type guy. He’d talk very patiently and slowly when addressing us kids. But every once in a while, he’d start getting angry or excited and his calm voice would get louder and louder, and angrier and angrier – until he’d interrupt himself from blowing a gasket and say “Let… Us…Not…BE…HASTY!!!” He’d then go back to his calm discussion to us all. He was a gentle giant who probably wanted to throttle us Pain in the Ass Kids but always kept himself in check.

At this point, I want to continue filling you in about some of the teachers I encountered during my first week at school.

First up was Colone Delancey.

Colonel D. was probably a favorite to many of you out there. He was our homeroom teacher for 7B. He was a very nice man who taught Social Studies to our class. Colonel D. was also a very “naty” dresser. His suits were immaculate, his shoes polished, he always wore a tie and dress socks.

Often he’d hitch suit pant leg up and put his foot on the bench when he was pointing to the map of the world or wanted to just make a point in his lecture.
He had this habit of making a funny noise now and then that sounded like a “tsk” but came out as “snntt.” I think he did it to clear his palate from flem or maybe it was a nervous habit? I am only guessing here – but it sounded like a noise you’d make trying to dislodge a piece of food from between your teeth.

So of course, when he was not around some clown would prance around the classroom pulling up his pants up higher, so the waistband was underneath his armpits and mince around the class making that “snntt” sound in rapid-fire succession in a gross parody of Colonel Delancey. 

Pretty soon a whole group of jokers were dancing around, with their pant waistbands pulled up to their armpits, both pant legs grasped in each hand, going “snntt, ” “snntt, ” “sntt!” The sight of them acting like they were all stomping grapes for wine was freakin’ hilarious! Cheap laugh but funny.

Colonel D. didn’t lose his temper with us very often but when he did – he’d kick some kid out of the class for the day with the words – “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT MY CLASSROOM!!!” The little hellion would only be banished just for the day and would be back in his seat the following class.

As I got to become further acquainted with Colonel D. I began to notice that some days his hairline looked funny. I remember staring at him one day and suddenly realizing that he was wearing a toupee! I never said anything to the other kids because I didn’t want to embarrass him. 

But I remember always wondering about Colonel D.’s “rug” and wondering if it was ever going to pop off the top of his head like a bottle cap of a shaken bottle of soda because some kid pissed him off. You remember those old cartoons where the cartoon character gets surprised or angry and his hat pops off the top his head.

I am glad to report that Colonel D. never did – literally – “flip his lid.” I really liked Colonel Delancey and I think it would have been absolutely devastating for him to have a “bad hair day.”

Now I am sure everyone has a favorite teacher from Academy and for many Mr. Moran would be at the top of the list. Moran taught us English at the Academy during the third period.

I wouldn’t say Mr. Moran was a great teacher but as far as one with a memorable personality Mr. Moran couldn’t be beat.

He was from Wales and had a great Welsh accent. And it was obvious from his complexion and behavior he liked to drink.

Mr. Moran loved to pepper his admonishments to my class with phrases like – “Ach a’ vi!” Or Cadet So and So – You’re in the Land of the Lost me, Boy!” Mr. M. used the phrase “Ach a’ vi” so often that we began referring to him as Mr. Vi or Old Ach a’ vi in our conversations about him.

Of course, we had no idea what “Ach a’ vi” meant and often we would beg him to tell us the meaning of this cryptic phrase.  I mean was he swearing at us in Welsh? When asked – he’d just chuckle and say he’d tell us before we graduated.

The “Ach a’ vi!” discussion went on for many years in the playground. The more Talmudic students among us believed it was a “curse” used in Welsh to banish evil spirits. Others such as myself believed it was Mr. Moran vocalizing his general disgust at our oafish behavior.

Anyway, Year’s later I was able to worm it out of him in my senior year when we were alone after class. “Ok, Mr. Moran a deals a deal, we’re gonna graduate soon – so what does “Ach a’ vi” mean I asked.  Mr. Moran told me “Cadet Mallbeck – ” Ach a’ vi!” doesn’t really mean anything – it’s like saying “Oh, Life.”

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather I was so disappointed. “Oh, Life” that was it? For 3 years of wondering what the hell “Ach a’ vi!” meant – I felt totally gypped.

Naturally, I filled in some of my pals about the true meaning of the phrase. But no one believed me! They all thought I was lying – so great was their disbelief that the phrase “Ach a’ vi!” had such a trivial translation. I tried arguing with them but finally gave up after two hours of trying to convince anybody. 

So the great “Ach a’ vi!” Debate continued to rage until graduation.

Years later, after I had lived in New York City Ach a’ vi sounded strangely reminiscent of the Yiddish exclamation “Oy vey” which means “Oh dear.” So maybe this just was the Welsh equivalent to that Yiddish exclamation?

Colonel Totehill was our fourth-period teacher and he taught us math. And as far as teachers go he was my personal favorite.

And the reason I say this was he was able to really “teach.”  He was able to make clear to many of us that “Math” was an accessible subject based on logic. That doesn’t mean his classes we’re easy – far from it. I found them to be challenging but with a little help from my friend Henry Chang I was able to pass most of my exams with a “C+” grade some times higher.

Colonel Totehill had a permanent grey pallor as if his body absorbed chalk dust from the chalkboard. His hair, clothes were grey as well so he looked like this severe grey spectre from the other side.

Geez…If this dude had carried chains, moaned like a ghost or shuffled around like a zombie –  he would have probably scared the crap out of all of us.

Whenever he’d get frustrated with one us he says “Mr. Doggone So and So – go stand in the corner.” Since I spent a lot of time in “the corner” I became an expert in leaning up against the wall and slouching insouciantly-  that is – until I was told to go back to my seat. I often wished that a nice day bed resided in the corner. It would have my time outs so much more comfortable.

Often Colonel T. would get so frustrated he sometimes would just glare at ya and stick out his tongue and hold it clenched between his teeth. He’d hold this pose for what seemed to be an eternity, then continue ahead with the lesson. He later confessed in class that he was merely imitating his grandson who did that whenever he got mad.

Another teacher I encountered my first week was the notorious Mr. Kellahan, who taught Spanish in our final period, and Man was this guy a real firecracker.

He was a good teacher, that is if you didn’t mind learning from a man who appeared to be always in extemis and was yelling at you all the time.

Mr. Kellahan would come limping into class and throw his briefcase on his desk. He’d then get up out of his chair and start screaming at us for the remainder of the class time. He yelled at us all through the first week of school. And he continued to yell at us through the remaining three years I was at the Academy.

His frustration in my class never seemed to abate, it was as if we were the source of never-ending pain. Like we were a toothache or a stomach ulcer that never stopped hurting him.

Oh, he’d calm down once in a while that is until he’d grade our homework assignments. Then he’d pull out our offending papers out of his briefcase and brandish them in a clenched fist. Then the screaming would start up again afresh.

Mr. Kellahan would pound the chalkboard, write the correct sentence structure on it in huge scrawling letters.

He’d bellow “Think! Think! It’s a New Experience for You!!” If he thought our school work or something was worthless he’d dismiss it as “Mickey Mouse.”

Part of his frustration would stem from our inability to conjugate verbs properly in Spanish. He’d yell and say it’s “YO NO TENGO! NOT… NO… YO… TIENO!” And he’d write this in big letters on the board.

But no matter how often he’d point out that the correct conjugation was “Yo No Tengo” some dummkopf would screw up and write “Yo No Tieno” in his homework assignment sending Mr. Kellahan into an apoleptic fit! Sometimes it felt like some of my classmates were just fuckin’ with him.

The frustrated man would try just about everything to get us to understand the daily lesson.  Besides yelling he’d try to shame us in an effort for us to do better.

He’d say things like “I asked my Nine-year-old son about how he’d conjugate this verb? And my son who is only NINE YEARS OLD…would tell me – awww Dad that’s a “cinchy” and even HE! – A NINE-YEAR-OLD KID COULD DO IT! BUT YOU PEOPLE?” He’d wave his hand in disgust at us.

Or Mr. Kellahan would try by insulting our intelligence by saying “THE CONCRETE OUTSIDE HAS MORE RETENTION THAN YOU PEOPLE – I COULD WRITE THIS LESSON ON THAT CONCRETE!…AND IT WOULD RETAIN IT LONGER THAN YOU!!!”

I only saw Mr. Kellahan get physical with a student once. During one class he bopped one kid upside the head with our “Primero Vista” textbook – and I think it was because he had laryngitis that day and couldn’t scream at the dummy. The kid was more surprised than hurt. And we all laughed.

Poor guy, I kinda felt sorry for him.

Nothing seemed to penetrate the “concrete” between our ears and my class continued to frustrate him the whole time I was at school.

I do remember an amusing story involving Mr. Kellahan and I that occurred a few years later when I was in 9th grade that I’ll write about now.

In 9th grade, my class had finally pushed Mr. Kellahan to the breaking point. My class was still turning homework assignments with”Yo no tieno” in them – and Mr. K. had had enough.

“We are going to start all over again, right from the beginning!” he said, his pock mocked face purple with rage.

So he made us pull out our first-year Spanish primers “Primero Vista” and we started with the first lesson we had already completed three years before.

Well after our class I checked my briefcase in my dorm room and in one of my files I had all the homework assignments from the first-year Spanish neatly filed away. I have no idea why I had held onto them but there they were – tucked away in one of my files. 

So as homework came in I would just look up the old corrected assignment in my briefcase, copy it and hand it in. So it was straight “A” city for this kid whenever I got Spanish homework.

This went on for some time. And I was able to trade my roommate Henry Chang for math tutorials by giving him copies of my Spanish homework to help him in a subject he struggled with.  So now, I was doing well in two subjects – Algebra and Spanish.

Well, of course, somebody decided to snitch on me by going to Mr. Kellahan and tell him what I was doing. The little rat probably thought Mr. K. would eat me alive and put an end to my happy arrangement.

So what do think happened? Well, I am gonna tell ya.

Mr. Kellahan did…drumroll kids!…”Nothing!” Well, at least not to me.

That’s right he did “Nothing” to “Me.’ But to the little fink, he gave “Him” a huge lecture about “tattling” and that “He” should be doing More to improve “His” grades – and spending Less time snitching on his fellow students.  As far as Mr. K. was concerned – “If Cadet Mallbeck was “Smart Enough” to keep his homework papers from the first year – that was fine by me” he said.

To add insult to injury, Mr. K. strongly suggested to Cadet “Snitch” that he should ask me for some “tutoring” in Spanish since I seemed to have such a strong grasp on the subject. 

Heh, heh, heh. Just priceless!

So what more can I say about my first week about school – now that I have introduced to the Academy and some of the main characters I interacted with for 3 years of my life?

Well, like anything it was hard because was all so new. I mean…think about it – for most of my life I had been a neurotic, feckless slug and suddenly I was getting up at 6 am, running my butt off, cleaning, shining, drilling, and studying the whole day till bedtime. So yeah, it was challenging but kind of exciting at the same time. I had been given a direction, a purpose and a chance at redemption.

And as far experiences go – one I’ll never forget.  You see, The Academy shaped me – for better or worse – what I would become later in life.

I am a poor chronicler friends and the Academy deserves a far better storyteller than the likes of me.

But, here you are and here I am.

I hope you will continue the journey a little while longer with me.

On that note, I’ll stop here.

Ach a’ vi.

About This Story

Unlike some of my other Tales – This is a True Story. If there are any inaccuracies it is due to lapse of memory and a few poetic liberties taken by this Author. Names have been changed to pseudonyms or nicknames because – One, I wanted to protect the privacy of my classmates and teachers. And Two, it gives me a little more freedom to write something about these individuals and hopefully not cause any embarrassment or hurt anyone’s feelings. I have also changed my Surname in the story. When I attended The Academy (aka Palo Alto Military Academy) in 1969-1972 my last name was not “Malbeck.” However, those individuals who knew me back then will remember my name and those who didn’t – let it remain a mystery.