Body Slam
At the Nebraska school for the blind, though they insisted upon
calling it the Nebraska School For The Visually Handicapped, the
cardinal rule was, when traveling the hallways, always stick to
the right. We, of course, had a couple of knuckle heads who
always insisted on walking anywhere they wished, swinging their
braille writers and knocking off the knee caps of any one who
just so happened to get in there way, but for the most part, the
rule worked for everybody's benefit. The only time, I admit, I
walked on the wrong side of the hall was when the hallway was
bereft of life. For example, late on Sunday nights, after coming
back to school from the weekend at home, I would stroll down to
the empty school building basement, locate my locker clear at
the opposite end of the hall, and get my books for the next day.
No one was in the building normally so I sometimes walked the
opposite side of the hall to find my locker. I never once had a
collision. Never, that is, until the day I body slammed into my
English teacher. He is likely dead now so I'll use his name.
Mister Strader was the only blind teacher at the school for the
blind in Nebraska during the few years I attended. He taught me
Braille and later I had him for English and geography. He was an
excellent teacher, I, less than a good student at the time, and
many years later, while on a trip through the state, I stopped
and spent some time with my old teacher both at the school and
later in his home on a visit. At any rate, Mister Strader was
absolutely notorious in the school in many ways. He always
carried his cane and lived about ten blocks from school. He
walked faster than anybody I ever saw. Well, it seemed like such
at the time. We gave him a special award as the state's best
creak jumper one day during a teachers appreciation day. He
didn't like the award nor the title we gave him because of the
reason he was awarded. During the winter one day, he got nearly
to school and remembered he had forgotten his lunch. He spun
about, and nearly at a run, headed back the way he had come.
There was a bridge he had to cross on the way to school but the
sidewalk swerved inward to accommodate the narrowness of the
bridge crossway. Well, Mister Strader forgot to swerve on to the
bridge and walked straight off the steep embankment and rolled
down to the stream bed which was frozen solid since it was the
middle of the winter. The hill was so steep and slippery from
ice and snow, he couldn't climb out. He yelled until he was
hoarse but no body heard him. He began following the hillside
down the frozen stream calling out for help until he was rescued
by someone in the neighborhood. He wasn't hurt much, except for
his pride and a thump on his noggin, and he was back to school
the next day. Now for the rest of the story. Mister Strader, as
I said, had a notorious reputation at the school for walking very
fast and for carrying his cane in school. I was told, upon
arriving at school for the first time, in no uncertain terms,
don't ever get in Mister Strader's way. I asked, why. I was
told, he carries his cane and he will strike anybody who gets in
his way and demand you step aside. Well, we played some pretty
mean tricks on our old blind teacher, such as, setting all the
chairs up on the desks in the room when leaving so when the next
class arrived, they, and Mister Strader, had to hunt for them. I
won't mention any other tricks we played on him lest some of our
younger subscribers to blind-x get any big ideas but other tricks
had something to do with Mister Strader in the mens bathroom.
Now, back to my story. I had Mister Strader for the last class
before lunch one year so I always left all my books, papers,
braille writer, and notebooks on my desk in his room and
retrieved them following lunch. He never knew this of course but
it wasn't against any rules as far as I knew. One day, following
lunch, I strolled calmly and confidently down an empty hallway to
Mister Straders room to pick up my books. I broke the school's
rule of staying to the right side of the hallway. Why? Because
Mister Strader's room was on the left side of the hall and
besides, the hall was totally devoid of life. Each of the room
doors were recessed in the hallway so no door hung out. You
wouldn't want any blind kids bumping their heads or smashing
their noses on opened doors but I digress. Just before reaching
Mister Strader's room, I cut across the hall and walked the
remaining feet to his normally opened door. Suddenly I heard a
noise directly in front of me but it was too late. I slammed
into the old teacher with such tremendous force, his false teeth
rattled in his mouth. Mister Strader was also notorious for
loosing his false teeth and had even accidentally spit them right
out on the floor of a restaurant in town one night following his
evening meal. At any rate, it wasn't his false teeth which
worried me at the moment. I was scared spitless he was going to
beat me to death with his cane. I was about thirteen years old
at the time. I had read enough novels to be quick witted and
thus it was I literally dove head first across the hall into the
opposite doorway for protection. Old man Strader stood int the
hallway and bellowed; repeatedly demanding whoever did that to
identify himself. Amazingly enough, the old buzzard did not have
his cane with him for if he had, I would likely not be writing
this story. I literally held my breath for what seemed minutes
as Mister Strader turned every direction in the hallway trying to
listen for the faintest of sounds. I was never so scared in my
life. I lay flat, my cheek against the cold tile floor, praying
the old codger wouldn't hear my blood flowing through my veins.
Finally, after what seemed to be hours, he move down the hallway,
howbeit cautiously, and when his footsteps faded away into
silence, I tip toed into his room, grabbed my books, and just as
cautiously walked down the hallway to my locker; hoping and
praying the old blind teacher wouldn't be coming back to his room
as I was trying to escape. So ends my secret of more than thirty
years. If you are thinking I confessed to Mister Strader when I
visited him many years later, you are dead wrong. I can still
hear his false teeth rattling now. Just think, if it wasn't for
that old dedicated blind teacher, I wouldn't be able to read
Braille today. I love you Mister Strader.
Phil Scovell