A Hundred Year Story, Part 47

Interesting Times at Columbus High School

By Elton Camp

(For any coming in late, this is set in the sixties.)

We had several human skeletons in the biology department. One year, a

particularly gullible student was enrolled in biology. The others tended to pick on and
deceive him. The skeletons provided a means to pull a hoax.

“A student at this school disappeared a few years ago. He reported to school one
morning and was never seen again. We’ve found out that’s his skeleton hanging there,”
the jokesters assured the stooge. “Never tell anybody.”

One of the boys tipped me off about the plot and explained that they needed some
help to fully convince him. “Say something casually in class to back it up,” he urged.
“It’ll be fun to see his reaction. The next day, I remarked about the missing student from
years back and how strange it was that he’d never been found. I didn’t say that the
skeleton was his, since I wouldn’t be supposed to know the terrible secret that the
students had learned. His expression of horror showed that he bought the story.

The next day, one of the conspirators came by after school. “We’re getting
worried. He’s getting ready to call in the police. This is getting out of hand. We didn’t
expect it to go this far.”

The next day, I pulled him aside and explained the situation. At first, I thought he
didn’t believe me, but the furor died down. I learned a valuable lesson about getting
involved in student pranks.

I was told that, a few years before I went to that school, two students had gotten
into serious trouble about a skeleton. They’d been jeep riding through an isolated rural
cemetery when one of the graves collapsed under weight of the vehicle. They dug into it
and removed a skeleton from an ornate casket. On one of its fingers was a costly
diamond ring. One of the boys presented it to his girlfriend. They brought the skeleton
to the school and threw it out on the front steps as a macabre prank.

“The principal and head maintenance man were out there picking up bones and
stuffing them into sacks when the student body began to arrive,” one of the older teachers
related. “It got into the Ledger. The family of the dead woman learned about it and
pressed charges. It was an ugly scene.”

Under Georgia law of the time, the only possible penalty upon conviction of grave
robbing was death in the electric chair. Because of their youth, the two malefactors were
allowed to join the military rather than stand trial.
 Some bones that belonged to the school became so worn and cracked as to be
worthless. I placed them in the garbage can for disposal. When the janitor saw them, he
freaked out and refused to come into the room for weeks afterward.

Student harassment of faculty was common at that school. A student had broken
the rear window out of Gwendolyn Richey’s new car and strewn paint all through it.
Other teachers had eggs thrown against their houses and cars. Many of us experienced
repeated episodes of toilet paper being strung in the trees at our residences.

The second year I was in Columbus, some students planned to put sugar into the
gas tank of my car to ruin the motor, but a student called me with a warning. While such
a loss would mean little to the parents of our well-heeled students, it would be
devastating to the low-paid faculty member. I prevented it by buying a lockable gas cap.
Such vicious pranks were a factor in the high turnover of teachers in the Muscogee
County School District. This was decades ago and I don’t know what the current
situation is.

On one occasion, students strewed a thick layer of confetti all over the front porch
and steps where I stayed. Mrs. Smith had already cleaned it up before I learned about it.
“I know who did it,” she declared. “A man came by wanting to rent on of my rooms and
I wouldn’t let him have anything. This is his way of getting back at me.” Of course,
nothing like that had happened.

“No, students from the high school did it,” I explained. “They do that a lot where
the teachers live.” She stared at me blankly. It was clear she didn’t believe it and liked
her story better. She continued to repeat the contrived explanation for months.

Late one night, students tossed rolls of toilet paper up into the trees and wrapped
strips of it all over the shrubbery, but I found it almost immediately and thoroughly
cleaned it up. That disappointed them when they drove by the next morning to smirk.

A student told me privately, “They couldn’t believe that nothing was there.
They’re still trying to figure out what happened.”

In an attempt to keep them from trying again, I said during class, “Somebody
messed up what they thought was my house. It just made the old woman who lives there
have a big clean-up job. I actually live in the brick cottage out back. I don’t care for
anybody rolling the place. Do it anytime you want.”
 The Brick Cottage

The cottage was far up the driveway at the back of the mansion, but visible from
the street. That I lived there was easy for them to believe. It would’ve been too risky for
them to go that far from the road.

Both those incidents were during my final year in Columbus. If I’d been foolish
enough to return for another year, I’d probably have had to move elsewhere to escape the
harassment.

School integration was just then locally getting in full swing. That gave valid
reason to fear violence when Columbus High School was fully integrated the following
year. We had a token number of black students in 1966, the year before I left. I was in
favor of the integration, but rightly worried about trouble. My concern proved entirely
justified. I heard that the school was closed the next year for two weeks due to racial
rioting. If that report is true, I barely escaped in time.

The city had an oppressive racial environment. Columbus, in keeping with

southern towns in general, was rabidly and openly racist. Blacks had few rights and were
accorded minimal respect. At a county-wide teacher’s meeting for white teachers only,
the speaker made racial slurs from the stage, along with remarks in favor of continued
segregation in the schools. It’d been a dozen years since the landmark Board v. Brown
decision by the United States Supreme Court. Compliance was slow in coming. He
concluded, “If any of you know how to prevent integration, you better let somebody
know. If not, it’s going to happen.”

I overheard one of the principals warn him after his intemperate speech, “You
better watch what you say. Some of the teachers are all in favor of niggers having
rights.”

Amazingly, the man got away with making such bigoted statements in public.
That would be inconceivable today when a public official can be fired for telling a single
racist joke.
 Blacks couldn’t use public facilities, eat in restaurants, rent hotel rooms, use coin
laundries or buy houses outside colored areas. All but menial jobs were closed to them.
Rental advertisements in the newspaper classified were divided into “White” and
“Colored” but thinly disguised with the letters “Col.” It was common to see signs in
businesses which read “White Only.” Public drinking fountains typically came in pairs,
with signs that specified, “Colored” over one and “White” over the other. Negroes could
attend movies only if they used a separate entrance and sat in a designated part of the
balcony.

Public restrooms were also segregated. Often buildings had three with identifying
signs, one for “White Men, a second for White Women, and a third that simply read
“Colored.” More enlightened places provided two for colored so that males and females
had separate facilities.

At many filing stations, blacks not allowed even to buy gas. The sign “We Serve
White Customers Only” was widespread. The station owners took the view that their
places were private property and they could discriminate if they pleased.

Once a black man pulled up to a pump on the road to Opelika in Alabama. “I

need gas and I’ve got as much right to buy here as anybody else.”

“All right, I’ll give you gas,” the attendant replied. The man removed the hose as
if to fill the tank, moved to the side of the potential customer’s car, and began to shoot
gas into the passenger compartment. The Negro drove off in a panic as the attendant
attempted to light a match to throw into the car. When the horrible incident was reported
in the newspapers, no public outcry came from the white community. Most thought the
Negro got what he deserved for being “uppity.”

When the faculty left cars at dealerships to be worked on during the school day, a
Negro would climb into the back seat and ride to the school with us. After school, he
returned to pick up the car owner. He again moved to the back seat. Violation of that
custom could have consequences. Taken by surprise, I went along with it a couple of
time. The next time the situation arose, when he started toward the back seat, I said
firmly, “No, you don’t. Sit up there. That isn’t right.” I expected trouble about it, but
nothing was said. I may have been fortunate enough that nobody saw it.

Despite its many shortcomings, Columbus High School was outstanding in many
ways. It had an extensive curriculum that included four years in Latin, Spanish, and
French. The math department provided specialized courses that were usually taught at
the college level. The science department scheduled a senior level class in human
anatomy and physiology that became my assignment during the last couple of years after
I’d been promoted to head of the Science Department at the retirement of Mr. Thomas.

Around 400 students were in the graduating class. A large enrollment is needed to
provide sufficient variety of subjects. Small high schools simply can’t meet the needs of
college-bound students.
 The more wealthy Jewish children attended Columbus High in such numbers that
on the high holy days the school was unable to function normally due to absences. One of
the more outstanding Jewish boys often stopped by to chat with me in the afternoons after
classes were over. He told me a blatantly anti-Christian joke.

“Did you hear about Easter being cancelled this year?” he quipped. “They
discovered the body.” Two gentile students in the room were taking make-up tests. I
quickly glanced around to see if either of them appeared to have heard. I was relieved
that they showed no reaction.

“Abe, it’s okay to tell me something like that, but you’d better watch or you’ll get
into serious trouble,” I warned in a whisper. No doubt, he’d heard the joke at home. His
parents never dreamed he’d repeat it outside a Jewish setting.

Association with the Jewish adolescents could provide interesting tidbits of

information. A boy whose family name was Snyder had blond hair, fair skin, and blue
eyes. SHitler would have been delighted at his Aryan appearance. One day, I got a
surprise. He mentioned working on the roof of the synagogue the previous day. “You’re
Jewish?” I asked with shock. He knew the reason for my reaction. No doubt, he’d
encountered it before. “How a Jew looks depends on which tribe he’s descended from,”
the boy explained without evidence of having taken any offense.

The children of the upper-level army officers also enrolled at Columbus High
rather than at the less respected school near Ft. Benning. Their fathers were mostly
majors and colonels. The school had a large, active program of ROTC that provided
military training. It wasn’t required, but most of the boys participated. Girls weren’t
accepted into the program except in token numbers and only in certain ceremonial
positions.

Many students from families of moderate means came from the immediate area of
the school. The teens tended to form cliques based on religion or socioeconomic status.
Active social clubs with selective admission operated for both boys and girls. The clubs
weren’t officially associated with the school but distinctive dress made membership
obvious.

School elections were taken seriously. Those running for the various offices even
went so far as to advertise their candidacy on the local television station. The
considerable expense didn’t seem to matter.

(To be continued.)