– Voice Of The Delta–

Mr. Hall's 8 Ball

By Jimmy Reed
Managing Editor


For students at Leland High School, a trip to the "green chairs" was like a trip to Alcatraz. Those hated chairs were right outside the principal's door, and misbehaving students sat in them while awaiting punishment.

Back in those days I had a bad habit of scrawling my name in public places – J. REED, with a square around it. One day, Miss Smith, our English teacher, was away from her classroom, and I etched my name on the board that could be pulled from beneath her desktop to provide more workspace. None of us had ever seen her use it, and since we were seniors, I figured I'd be long gone before she discovered my vandalism.

Darned if she didn't use it that very day!

When angered, Miss Smith's glare would send a rhinoceros bolting in panic, and now that glare was fixed directly on me. The classroom became as quiet as the inner chamber of King Tut's tomb.

"You! Report to the green chairs immediately!" she shrieked, pointing at the door and me simultaneously.

When I passed her desk, she handed me a note addressed to the principal. Mr. Hall always had a smile on his face, but when that smile suddenly cracked like a broken windowpane, naughty students knew they were doomed. As I sat across the desk from him that day, the sight of his paddle hanging from the coat tree set me to trembling. It was an inch thick and two feet long with holes drilled through it, and the leather thong attached to the handle coiled around

Mr. Hall's wrist during use so that he wouldn't lose it in the event he needed both hands to restrain a writhing, screaming student.

"Son, have you heard the expression, Ôfools' names and fools' faces, always seen in public places'?" He asked, his smile cracking. I nodded woefully, knowing he always amplified the errant student's misery by lecturing before paddling.

The telephone rang and he turned away while taking the call. The conversation dragged on and on, and I became restless. On his desk there was a large 8 ball with a window in its base. I picked it up. To get a ready-made answer, its owner flipped the ball over, and one would float up the window. Figuring Mr. Hall never used it, I scratched J. REED on the base with my pocketknife. "I'm not sure about that. Let me think on it. I'll call back with an answer shortly," Mr. Hall said, hanging up the phone.

My eyeballs shot out on stems as he reached for the shiny black orb. "Sometimes, this 8 ball helps when you can't come up with an answer on you own," he said, smiling as he turned it over. Instantly his face flushed livid, and his smile didn't just crack – it shattered! In this life, there is inevitable reward for good deeds and inescapable punishment for bad ones. Believe me, after the thrashing I got that day, this fool never again wrote his name in public places.

Jimmy Reed farmed and ginned in the Mississippi Delta for 20 years. He can be reached by telephone at (901) 767-4020 or jreed@vancepublishing.com via e-mail.