Getting Paddled - The First Day of School

One of my most vivid memories occurred on the first day of the eighth grade. I remember thinking we had finally arrived. As an eighth grader in a grades one through eight school we were going to be kings for the entire year. The fall of 1967 certainly had promise. Those hollowed halls were at the time one of the oldest continually used public school facilities in America. My grand mother and father had attended school at this location. Now we were the kings, the masters of our domain. It is good to be king.

The opening bell sounded, we took our seats. The intercom speaker crackled and Mr. Hardison's voice welcomed us to school. He then called my name and five of my running buddies and summoned us to the office. I thought of naming the names but have decided against it. I wouldn't want to undermine any of my friends authority in their present positions by having them too closely tied to my escapades. When we inquired to the purpose of our summons we were informed he intended to exact corporal punishment upon our persons. He observed the horrified and quizzical expressions on our faces. He then told us that we had not yet committed any infractions. He went on to state that ours was a preemptive paddling. It was his opinion that most of the trouble in River City  the previous year had been caused by the group assembled. He wanted to set the proper tone for the year. So much for being King.

I have told this story many times. I have found that people born after 1970 just do not understand the world in which the "Baby Boomers" lived. I often hear I would have told my parents. The parents of that day did not give their children a presumption of innocence. I never once considered going home to tell the Admiral that the Principle had paddled me for being the center of all that was wrong at the school for the preceding year. He would have investigated. I did not want the principle and my Dad having any conversation. A second paddling would have been certain along with long periods of confinement.

A good paddling was an act of grace. You misbehaved, were caught, felt guilty and then were punished. Once the paddling was completed you were completely restored. No further ramification or guilt was required. I would like to tell you I was a model student after that day. I can't. The teacher / student ratio in that day was about 1 to 30. The teachers managed quite well. Mrs. Ipock said that she liked to practice her tennis forehand by paddling her students. From my experience she must have gone undefeated that year.

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Friday nights with Burke Taylor

In the 1960s New Bern High School athletes did not have a better friend than Mr. Burke Taylor. Mr. Taylor was an automobile dealer in New Bern early in that industry's history. He originally sold Oldsmobiles and Cadillacs. The story, as I was told was he received a medical diagnosis that his time was limited. He sold his business to Mr. Don Deichman. He continued to live and decided to sell Dodges which he did for many years. However he did continue to drive Cadillacs. He was a classic southern gentleman. He wore a  Stetson Rancher style felt hat. The type that has a narrower brim. He smoked great cigars. He helped young people when they wanted to start a business when banks wouldn't. You could see folks stopping by his office to seek advice and make payments for personal loans.

Mr. Taylor was a dear friend to my grandfather. As a physician my grandfather always wanted to have dependable transportation. He made house calls. So the family story goes he bought a new car each year. I guess buying dozens of cars will endear you to an auto dealer. My father retired from the military and moved back home when his father was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Papa passed away after we had been home less than eighteen months. Mr. Taylor became a father figure, mentor and best friend for my Dad. When my Dad entered politics, Mr. Taylor always served as his campaign manager.

For years and years Mr. Taylor was the biggest booster for New Bern Athletics. When trophies were passed out to the athletes Mr. Taylor had paid for them. If the school had a need I am sure he got a call. He was so appreciated by the school that during home football games he had a parking space inside the fence just behind the end zone. His influence was so great that the athletic director would arrange the same privilege at away games. He would invite my dad to go to all the New Bern games with him. We would pile into his huge Cadillac. Dad and Mr. Taylor would be in the front. My sister, myself and Mr. Taylor's grandaughter Juliet would be in the back. Usually the away game trips would include a stop at Wilbur's or King's for good old NC style bar-b-que. Good friends, good food and a great ball game, what could be better?

He was a great mentor for my father. Mentors can be such a blessing. Unfortunately time seems to remove them from your life. Often times you don't appreciate what you have until they are gone. I wish I could ride in the backseat of a big 1966 Cadillac and listen to Mr. Taylor and my Dad one more time.