I remember the day Barry King and I became friends.
It was the second semester of first grade, at the beginning of 1978. After intense psychological testing, it was determined I was bored off my ass at LBJ Elementary public school first grade, and didn’t like being around stupid people. The only solution was to send me to the best private school in El Paso, Texas: St. Clements Episcopal School.
My family was not particularly religious. We were Catholic, but all that amounted to was going to church on Sunday every now and then, throwing a buck in the collection plate, and my brother and I getting baptized. It turned out while St Clements had the trappings of a religious school, it was mostly a front. It was actually where all the rich people sent their kids because at St. Clements you had to do three things: 1) go to 20 minutes of “chapel” in the morning, 2) wear uniforms four days a week and 3) get a real, honest, high level education. This was no place for dummies or stupid people.
I was a good kid, so I fit right in. I was quiet, I didn’t talk out of turn, I got straight A’s, and all the teachers loved me. I was on the fast track to a boring, successful, dull life, saved from it by one thing- I loved to laugh at the things I wasn’t supposed to laugh at.
I would never, ever cut up in class. But I would laugh at the kids who did, and silently egg them on. And no one could cut up better than a blonde haired, blue eyed heathen named Barry King- I always laughed the hardest at him because he was by far the funniest. I suppose that’s why Barry took a liking to me. I was his audience, and his encouragement.
Barry was the product of a very successful Orthopedist in El Paso and his dumb-as-they-come younger, blonde trophy wife. Supposedly she was an “artist,” but I honestly believe she was on valium all the time, and her marriage decision was based on his ability to prescribe it as often as she wanted it.
Barry had both parents in him. He was very smart, but he could also be a ditz at the same time. And he couldn’t help getting into trouble. He was a true miscreant who could not say no to mischief. He’d blow up a sandwich bag, sneak up behind one of the goody two shoes kids and pop it in his ear. He’d pick his nose and flick boogers when the teacher wasn’t looking. And he could hock an impressive loogie farther than anyone else.
Barry got caught about 25% of the time. He got sent to sit out in the hall. He got sent home with notes for his parents- neither cared. But he was clever enough to avoid getting “swats,” something that was absolutely meted out with gusto by an ill tempered third grade teacher named Mrs. Harley. Barry never got swats- but he was pretty good at setting it up where other, less clever kids got swats.
Barry and I were acquaintances through most of first grade, but not really friends. He’d cut up, I’d laugh, but we never hung out together- until the day he clogged a toilet in the school restroom.
One day in mid-Spring of 1978, I had to go to the bathroom, and got a hall pass from the teacher. I walked down the long hall to the restroom, went inside and saw two kids with guilty looks on their faces- and a closed stall with two legs at the bottom. One of them was a dumb kid named Leigh Bloss, I forget the other one. Leigh wasn’t just dumb, he was “chicken.” He’d talk about all the things he was going to do, but when it came time to do them, he’d chicken out. Always. The other kids would flap their arms at Leigh, cackling “bawk, bawk.” You’d think he’d learn to keep his mouth shut, but like I said, Leigh was dumb. A dumb chicken.
Leigh was laughing nervously and looking around with a guilty look on his face. I knew he hadn’t actually done anything because he was turning chicken, but I knew something was up. When they saw me come in, they called me over and said, “Hey, we need a look out. Barry is going to clog the toilet, but someone has to keep an eye out for teachers.”
I was caught in a dilemma. Getting caught acting lookout for Barry clogging the toilet would result in swats for sure, and I wanted no part of those. My “good boy” side told me to get the hell out of there, especially since Leigh was not only a chicken, he was a blabbermouth.
But the side of me that loved to laugh at things I wasn’t supposed to, the side of me that pulled me to the miscreants was stronger. Clogging a toilet at St. Clements Episcopal School sounded really, really funny. These weren’t just the small toilets you had at home. These were the big toilets with the high pressure flush, designed to be NOT clogged by elementary school kids. But the designers never thought they’d run across someone like Barry King.
Leigh and his cohort did not wait for me to say yes or no. They pretty much said, “you’re the lookout, goodbye,” and bolted. They didn’t even wait for me to finish peeing. They just ran out the door, leaving me to either leave Barry in the lurch or risk being caught aiding and abetting clogging the toilet.
I didn’t want to get in trouble and ruin my reputation with my parents. But I also didn’t want to run out on a kid who made me laugh uncontrollably. No matter what happened, I couldn’t rat, either deliberately or by bailing out. And most importantly, I wanted to see that damn toilet clog. It sounded really, really, really funny. Unless you were the janitor.
So I walked over to the stall and opened it. Barry had taken the cardboard toilet paper inserts out of the rolls, stuffed them with toilet paper, and literally shoved them sideways in the toilet. It wasn’t enough to just put too much toilet paper in a school toilet, you had to have something that jammed in the hole. Barry explained all this to me when I opened the door, he was a true professional.
“Where did that chicken Leigh go?” Barry asked. “He bolted,” I said, “it’s just you and me.” “Well, you’re the look out now, go see if any teachers are coming.” I opened the door, peeked out, and the coast was clear. I wasn’t worried about them coming after me, I was a good kid, and no one worried if it took me a little longer to go to the restroom. But they would sure worry about Barry, and no doubt he was overdue.
How much longer, I asked? “We’re ready to go,” said Barry. He’d just finished stuffing ALL the toilet paper in the restroom into this one toilet. Not only did he want that one toilet to royally clog, he wanted the next kid who used the other one to discover there was no toilet paper in the whole joint AFTER he’d crapped, setting up a dilemma. Barry was a true miscreant, and nothing made him happier than a two for one prank.
I vividly remember Barry flushing the toilet with a flourish and a chef’s kiss. The water rose quickly, the cardboard tubes stayed jammed in the hole and….KLONK. I’ll never forget that sound. KLONK. That toilet was good and clogged with gallons of water flowing into it….then over it…then onto the floor. Barry’s eyes got wide and he said, “we’ve gotta get out of here before our shoes get wet.”
Oh, shit. If we returned with wet shoes, the teachers would know we’d been in the bathroom when the toilet clogged and overflowed. We threw open the door, took a chance, and sprinted out, laughing so hard we almost fell over. Luck was with us, and the hall was vacant. No teachers, no aides, no janitors. We laughed so hard we started to get red in the face…and then we saw the water starting to flow under the door. That stopped our laughing, and we somehow got back to class with a straight face. That toilet was well and truly clogged. KLONK.
All hell broke loose a few minutes later when water ran down the hallway, and the janitor discovered this was no malfunction or the result of a kid eating too much sausage. This was a deliberate set up job- and he knew who did it. This was a Barry King special through and through. But they had no idea I was aiding and abetting Barry.
Of course they interrogated him, but they had nothing to go on, no one saw anything, and even chicken Leigh kept his mouth shut. Leigh was afraid if he blabbed that he might get swats for being in on it, and Leigh was terrified of swats. Sometimes his chicken nature worked in his favor.
After that, Barry and I became true friends for the rest of the time I was at St Clements, through the first half of 6th grade ending in December 1982 when I moved to Corpus Christi. We were tight through third grade, but didn’t hang out as much from 4th-6th, although we were still friends.
Barry liked me for taking a risk and not running out on him. He invited me to spend the night at his house, and that became a regular thing- and I have some great stories from those nights. I liked Barry not only because he made me laugh, but because in retrospect, he was true to who he was- he was a miscreant, a hilarious troublemaker who loved to make the other kids laugh by doing the things they wouldn’t do. It was a great partnership, and I will always be thankful to Barry King for helping me to develop my miscreant side. Without it, I probably would have wound up being a highly educated dullard who never learned how to truly enjoy life and create memories and stories.
Thank God for the Miscreants.
- No recent comments available.