I know that nowadays its really verboten for a kid to have a pocket knife in school, but in my day it was not a frowned on thing. Expert if you ran across Mrs. Jacobs.
The she demon posing as a teacher at my grade school seemed to have a real talent for sniffing out pocket knives to confiscate. Not that they were against the rules, but it seemed a personal crusade to deprive as many young boys of their pocket knives as passable. When protests were made on the basis of them not being a forbidden item, Mrs.Jacobs would tell the principle that the boy in question was doing something he shouldn't have been, or some other reason that was not true. She would out and out lie. Of course the principle would have to side with the teacher. This situation set in motion a chain of events that would result in the great Glen Haven commando raid.
Knowing there was an evil anti-knife person in our school, we kept our pocket knives deep in our pockets, and out of view of Mrs. Jacobs. Then Dave Tate got his knife taken away.
It was an innocent mistake. Out at recess, Dave's sneaker lace broke. Trying it back together he had the problem that it had already broke twice before and was knotted together in a couple of places and was really shot. Dave had the bright idea that since he was wearing high top Keds, he would take the good one from the other shoe, cut it in half and use each half to lace each sneaker as a low top till he got home. All was going well till he cut the long unknoted lace in two. Out of nowhere like a vampire out of a dark foggy night, Mrs. Jacobs was there, coming around a corner of the building. With a harsh cry of victory, she swooped down on Dave and confiscated his knife. Protests did no good, and Dave was out a nice Barlow. Even his dad called the school and inquired, and was told by the witch that Dave had pulled his knife out on the playground for no just cause. That afternoon the first seeds of the plot began to take shape.
We began to watch, plan, measure distances from the side of the school to the woods. We'd take innocent walks around the school to survey what windows were out of sight of the road. No group of conspirators were as dedicated to their task. We were going to get Dave's knife back. The witch had lied and hurt one of our own. It was Jihad.
It was known that Mrs. Jacobs put the sized items in a staple box in her desk drawer. To get to her desk we had to get into the school when she was not there. We decided to strike very early on a Saturday morning. There would be nobody about, except the school handyman, Mr. Harris. We'd take our bikes as far as the woods, and leave them stashed in the bushes and go in on foot. We staged ourselves at the jump off point and had a final briefing. It was Dave, Ev, Bobby Ryerson, and myself. It was agreed on that if anyone got caught, they were to be left behind, and no matter what, not talk on pain of death. We took an oath on it.
The window in question was in an alcove out of sight behind some bushes. We set out one by one at two minute intervals, and when we would get to the point of walking by the alcove we'd just hang a right into the bushes. Finally we were all there. The window in question was just high enough that a boast was needed. The latch was easily pried open with the screwdriver blade of a TL-29, (security in those days was not what it was today) and since Ev was the biggest kid, he gave us a boast up. Dave went first since it was his mission, then Bobby, then me. Ev was going to stay out as lookout. He had a little metal whistle and would give us a warning if someone was coming. As a last precaution, we put on bandannas over our faces western bad guy style. We went in.
It was really loud in the deserted school, and I wondered what the pounding noise was. It was my heart. I wondered if Dave or Bobby was hearing it too. We crept down the hallway, and after a long mile, or what seemed like it, we got to the door of the witches lair. The school still seemed to be deserted and silent but for the pounding heartbeat. Our luck was still good, the door was unlocked.
Bobby was left at the door to keep lookout and Dave and I went into the classroom. It was almost a surreal experience being in Mrs. Jacobs class early on a Saturday morning by ourselves. Such was her malignant aura that we could feel the evil as we slowly approached THE desk. We opened the drawer and there was the brown cardboard staple box. Dave opened it and gasped. I looked to see what startled him and my breath was taken from me.
The box was full of knives.
All kinds of knives.
There must have been the knives of generations of schoolboys in the box. Barlow knives, two blade jacks, stockmen, pen knives.
Just then the crack of doom sounded. A door slammed.
Bobby was whispering franticly from the door.
"We gotta get outa here! Its Mr. Harris!"
"Is he coming this Way?" Dave asked.
"Oh yeah!"
There was no time to have Dave root through the box looking for his Barlow. With doom closing on us we had to abort and run. But Dave had other ideas. Dave grabbed the whole box after closing the lid. We bolted from the room.
"HEY, YOU KIDS, HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Mr. Harris shouted down the long corridor at us.
We ran like the devil was after us. Seconds ahead of the handyman we made it to the storeroom where we had opened the window, and scraping ourselves in our hurry we bailed out of the window.
Expert for Bobby Ryerson.
Mr. Harris had grabbed Bobby by the legs as he wiggled out last, and had that end of him as we grabbed him by the arms to keep him from being pulled back in. Me, Dave, and Ev had Bobby by the arms and shoulders and pulled with everything we had. Bobby helped by kicking and thrashing the best he could. With a sudden surge Bobby came flying out into us, and we took off running back to the woods where our bikes were stashed. Dave tossed the staple box of pocket knives into the front basket on his bike and we rode like outlaws with the law after us. We still had the bandannas over our faces as we pushed the envelope on how fast a Shwinn bike could be peddled.
We held up in the woods by our houses to take stock. Dave spilled out the knives on a bandanna and we looked in awe. The witch must have been at it for years. Handfuls of knives. Dave found his and put it back in his pocket.
"What are we gonna do with all them?" Ev asked.
"We're going to try to find their owners." Dave declared.
It seemed an imposable task, but we slowly for the rest of the school year quietly asked if anyone knew who else had knives taken away by the witch. We actually found a few, and when they described the knife, we went through the box and found one that matched the description. Without fail, the owners were both overjoyed by getting their knife back, and curious as to how we got it. Those knives we couldn't find the owners, we tried to find worthy owners for them. The scout troop was just then being formed at the local church, and Bobby had the idea of giving knives to the younger kids who didn't have a knife yet. In time all the knives went to a worthy scout recruit.
Of course the witch yelled bloody murder, and the principle interrogated the usual suspects, but no culprit was ever found. We went on with our lives knowing we had foiled an evil crone, and kept our pocket knives deep down in our pockets.
The she demon posing as a teacher at my grade school seemed to have a real talent for sniffing out pocket knives to confiscate. Not that they were against the rules, but it seemed a personal crusade to deprive as many young boys of their pocket knives as passable. When protests were made on the basis of them not being a forbidden item, Mrs.Jacobs would tell the principle that the boy in question was doing something he shouldn't have been, or some other reason that was not true. She would out and out lie. Of course the principle would have to side with the teacher. This situation set in motion a chain of events that would result in the great Glen Haven commando raid.
Knowing there was an evil anti-knife person in our school, we kept our pocket knives deep in our pockets, and out of view of Mrs. Jacobs. Then Dave Tate got his knife taken away.
It was an innocent mistake. Out at recess, Dave's sneaker lace broke. Trying it back together he had the problem that it had already broke twice before and was knotted together in a couple of places and was really shot. Dave had the bright idea that since he was wearing high top Keds, he would take the good one from the other shoe, cut it in half and use each half to lace each sneaker as a low top till he got home. All was going well till he cut the long unknoted lace in two. Out of nowhere like a vampire out of a dark foggy night, Mrs. Jacobs was there, coming around a corner of the building. With a harsh cry of victory, she swooped down on Dave and confiscated his knife. Protests did no good, and Dave was out a nice Barlow. Even his dad called the school and inquired, and was told by the witch that Dave had pulled his knife out on the playground for no just cause. That afternoon the first seeds of the plot began to take shape.
We began to watch, plan, measure distances from the side of the school to the woods. We'd take innocent walks around the school to survey what windows were out of sight of the road. No group of conspirators were as dedicated to their task. We were going to get Dave's knife back. The witch had lied and hurt one of our own. It was Jihad.
It was known that Mrs. Jacobs put the sized items in a staple box in her desk drawer. To get to her desk we had to get into the school when she was not there. We decided to strike very early on a Saturday morning. There would be nobody about, except the school handyman, Mr. Harris. We'd take our bikes as far as the woods, and leave them stashed in the bushes and go in on foot. We staged ourselves at the jump off point and had a final briefing. It was Dave, Ev, Bobby Ryerson, and myself. It was agreed on that if anyone got caught, they were to be left behind, and no matter what, not talk on pain of death. We took an oath on it.
The window in question was in an alcove out of sight behind some bushes. We set out one by one at two minute intervals, and when we would get to the point of walking by the alcove we'd just hang a right into the bushes. Finally we were all there. The window in question was just high enough that a boast was needed. The latch was easily pried open with the screwdriver blade of a TL-29, (security in those days was not what it was today) and since Ev was the biggest kid, he gave us a boast up. Dave went first since it was his mission, then Bobby, then me. Ev was going to stay out as lookout. He had a little metal whistle and would give us a warning if someone was coming. As a last precaution, we put on bandannas over our faces western bad guy style. We went in.
It was really loud in the deserted school, and I wondered what the pounding noise was. It was my heart. I wondered if Dave or Bobby was hearing it too. We crept down the hallway, and after a long mile, or what seemed like it, we got to the door of the witches lair. The school still seemed to be deserted and silent but for the pounding heartbeat. Our luck was still good, the door was unlocked.
Bobby was left at the door to keep lookout and Dave and I went into the classroom. It was almost a surreal experience being in Mrs. Jacobs class early on a Saturday morning by ourselves. Such was her malignant aura that we could feel the evil as we slowly approached THE desk. We opened the drawer and there was the brown cardboard staple box. Dave opened it and gasped. I looked to see what startled him and my breath was taken from me.
The box was full of knives.
All kinds of knives.
There must have been the knives of generations of schoolboys in the box. Barlow knives, two blade jacks, stockmen, pen knives.
Just then the crack of doom sounded. A door slammed.
Bobby was whispering franticly from the door.
"We gotta get outa here! Its Mr. Harris!"
"Is he coming this Way?" Dave asked.
"Oh yeah!"
There was no time to have Dave root through the box looking for his Barlow. With doom closing on us we had to abort and run. But Dave had other ideas. Dave grabbed the whole box after closing the lid. We bolted from the room.
"HEY, YOU KIDS, HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Mr. Harris shouted down the long corridor at us.
We ran like the devil was after us. Seconds ahead of the handyman we made it to the storeroom where we had opened the window, and scraping ourselves in our hurry we bailed out of the window.
Expert for Bobby Ryerson.
Mr. Harris had grabbed Bobby by the legs as he wiggled out last, and had that end of him as we grabbed him by the arms to keep him from being pulled back in. Me, Dave, and Ev had Bobby by the arms and shoulders and pulled with everything we had. Bobby helped by kicking and thrashing the best he could. With a sudden surge Bobby came flying out into us, and we took off running back to the woods where our bikes were stashed. Dave tossed the staple box of pocket knives into the front basket on his bike and we rode like outlaws with the law after us. We still had the bandannas over our faces as we pushed the envelope on how fast a Shwinn bike could be peddled.
We held up in the woods by our houses to take stock. Dave spilled out the knives on a bandanna and we looked in awe. The witch must have been at it for years. Handfuls of knives. Dave found his and put it back in his pocket.
"What are we gonna do with all them?" Ev asked.
"We're going to try to find their owners." Dave declared.
It seemed an imposable task, but we slowly for the rest of the school year quietly asked if anyone knew who else had knives taken away by the witch. We actually found a few, and when they described the knife, we went through the box and found one that matched the description. Without fail, the owners were both overjoyed by getting their knife back, and curious as to how we got it. Those knives we couldn't find the owners, we tried to find worthy owners for them. The scout troop was just then being formed at the local church, and Bobby had the idea of giving knives to the younger kids who didn't have a knife yet. In time all the knives went to a worthy scout recruit.
Of course the witch yelled bloody murder, and the principle interrogated the usual suspects, but no culprit was ever found. We went on with our lives knowing we had foiled an evil crone, and kept our pocket knives deep down in our pockets.
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