A Modern Day Warrior

[Originally posted on March 19, 2019 — old blog]

So no one liked going to school, right? Well, not so much the “going” part, but more of the “doing” part. Like doing long term homework assignments. Me in particular, I hated English class.

It was probably partially do to my West Philly Italian heritage which migrated Wester to the suburbs of Delaware County right before starting in middle school. Being the middle of three kids, I got a taste for what was ahead on the school curriculum. I saw first-hand the subjects and topics my older brother Jerry hated in his school daze. But I fondly remember how his one English teacher, Ms. Hellwiggy, in 7th grade, almost failed him for the year because he fell short on a book report he turned in after reading the ever so famous novel, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain. He botched that report so badly, at his parent/teacher conference that year, my mother was informed he had one weekend to re-complete the assignment properly to be allowed to pass the quarter. Or maybe it was a large part of his final grade. Either way it was important. And sure enough, mom was on a mission to make sure Jerry put the time and effort that was required into that report. She watched him close and helped him read or understand that book for the rest of the week. I recall her referencing Ms. Hellwiggy’s name so many times that weekend that Nick and I became afraid of her. Mom reviewed and slashed his notebook so many times in red like a crazy teacher herself. And Jerry went back to it over and over to correct or polish up that book report, pretty much all weekend. Finally, it was time to type it all out on our family’s spiffy Apple IIc. Luckily for all the drafts that happened that weekend, the typing, rather pecking, went somewhat smoothly for Jerry. By late Sunday night he was printing out that report on our loud dot-matrix printer, screaming page by page patiently waiting for this assignment to be over. Finally, the pages and their side feeders on each page were cleanly torn off, and the cover page and full report were in good order. Then it was ceremoniously bound in one of those lovely plastic book report folders we all know and loved. The ultimate report about the Adventure of Tom Sawyer was ready to be turned in. Monday came and went, and later that week Jerry found out he had improved his grade enough to pass 7th grade English. Mom was happy, and so were the rest of us that it was over. We prayed to never ever see that mood again.

So tick tock, tick tock. Time moved on as Jerry did to 8th grade, then on to being a freshman. I on the other hand, just advanced to 7th grade in middle school. The very first day of 7th grade was the worst for me. They traditionally handed out everyone’s yearly roster in homeroom on the first day. As soon as mine landed in my hand, I scanned it and immediately eyed that all too familiar name….”MS. HELLWIGGY!! NOOOOOO!” Though believe it or not, the school year went on mostly without incident, until one day late in the year, we were told about our big book report assignment. The kiddie-PTSD triggered through my body as soon as Ms. Hellwiggy utter those words, “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain”. I heard it in slow motion. Like 3 minutes long in slow motion. Jerry’s book report days were flashing through my head. Mom screaming Jerry’s name in my head, the printer printing, the screaming and the crying, in my head….and the ink! Oh, so much red ink. It was my PTSD’s version of a bloodied battlefield. But I soon warp back to reality with a smirk on my face because guess who knows exactly where there is a B+ caliper book report on this very same subject? I guess mom or Jerry kept this in particular book report as a trophy of sorts. I just knew it was stuffed in an old binder Jerry kept on the bookshelf in his bedroom.

As soon as I got home from school that day, I bee-lined to Jerry’s room and nonchalantly snagged this book report. Project over, I thought. I had a couple of weeks of freedom on my hands. Well, I’ll spoil it for you now, I enjoyed it while it lasted. But here’s what happened once this treasure was in my possession. That weekend I told my friend John about the report and offered to share it if he promised to change up some of the words or sentences. He agreed, and now I had a cohort to waste all that precious time playing Nintendo. Then the bright idea eventually dawned on me, I can make some extra coin if I sold this report to some classmates. Obviously the same rules applied to them: change some words or sentences, and Ms. Hellwiggy would be none-the-wiser. I think I sold around 10 copies for probably no more than $5.00 a shot. I raked in a nice little nut for a shit-for-brains 12–13 year old. I’m surprised I didn’t waste some of it on a leather-bound book report cover, instead of using one of those cheap plastic ones the peons always used.

Well, the due date came, and with great pride and puffy chest I handed in “my” report. Not a single word changed from the original, because obviously I told everyone else to use different words. This was the best get-rich-quick scheme I think I ever pulled off. Well, it’s definitely the first good one that I can remember. Anyway, those few days of waiting for our grades went by without any sweat, and I sweat a lot. But sure enough, later that week, the fun was finally over and boy did the perspiring commence. I can’t remember if it was during another class or at lunch time or after school, but everyone that had a copy of that book report was informed to report to Ms. Hellwiggy’s classroom. I knew why right away. The second I walked in, every person I sold that report to, along with John, were all sitting in that room.

Ms. Hellwiggy tried being investigative with us at first for a few minutes, but it pretty much ended with her screaming and reprimanding all of us about the meaning of plagiarism. And guess who seemed to be getting looked at the most through all of it? Yep, this guy. Deservedly so, I suppose. She knew I was the ringleader of the buffoons. I couldn’t look away without landing on different scowls from all around the room. I asked John about this recently and he said he remembers having to write another book report about plagiarizing. I messaged some guys from our class, looking for a few that were involved, and the ones I found were just surprised I remembered the teacher’s name. But they did recall a plagiarizing incident about Tom Sawyer. I only recall having to write out “I will not plagiarize ever again” or something to this degree on the black board at least 50 times, or a lot of times. My poor little, dry, white fingers. I know! Right?

Sadly, what I can’t recall is if there was anymore punishment other than that meeting with Ms. Hellwiggy. I don’t think we received any detention time for this heinous act either. I’m pretty sure our principal wasn’t involved. And it’s really hard for me to believe our parents weren’t told about this. But none of that rings any bells. I guess that’s what almost 30 years of overwriting memories in the brain can do to a guy writing about a 29 year old event. I’m also unsure if I refunded anyone their money, but I’m leaning toward that not happening. Knowing me, I probably looked at it as them all nullifying their agreement by not changing any goddamn words or sentences in their final drafts. Idiots! All of us.

And one last tidbit, just for fun…Ms. Hellwiggy was a fan of pigs. She had little figurines and pictures of pigs all around her classroom. To this day I wonder if she knew if any of us runts called her Ms. Hellpiggy?

Now do yourself a favorite and listen to the Rush song after knowing this story. I kind of chuckle every time I hear it: Tom Sawyer — Rush