The Cold Days of Summer - Episode 9
A teacher tries to teach Drew a lesson but Drew is stubborn and another woman murdered in west Texas.
Previously in The Cold Days of Summer: Kaiser Bill joins the family, Drew learns to fall. See Episode 8 of The Cold Days of Summer.
Welcome to Medium Land
My last days in the sixth grade didn't go all that well. Somewhere, somehow I did something to severely annoy Mr. Hastings. He had his classroom divided into thirds, the smart ones in rows five and six with row six being next to the bank of windows, the medium ones in rows three and four in the middle of the classroom and in rows one and two, nearest to the classroom door, the ones destined for dropping out of high school. The hierarchy was like this: row six was the smartest of the smart, with the person in the first desk being the smartest in the class, the person in the second desk the second smartest and so on. Each row had five desks for a total of 30 desks in the classroom. The student in the fifth desk of row six was the fifth smartest in the class and the student in desk one of row five was the sixth. I think you can figure out the rest. Needless to say, you almost felt sorry for James Peterson sitting in desk five of the first row. According to all of our calculations, including his, he was the dumbest student in the class. Now Mr. Hastings never said that's how his class was organized but it didn't take long for most of us to figure out that's how things were.
For seven months I was on the smart side of the class, in the third desk of row six with a great view of 21st street. My grades were okay, A's and B's, but I'll admit I never worked too hard, just enough to keep from slipping into C land. Then the first of April I walked over to my desk near the windows only to notice Debra Paulson was sitting in my desk.
“Debra, you're sitting at my desk, go on, get up and move back to your desk.”
“This is my desk.” I'll admit it looked like her desk. She kept a neat desk, no pencil dust, no eraser fragments, no paper sticking out of the desk's guts.
“Mr. Remington, come here.” That was Mr. Hastings. No first names in Mr. Hastings class, just Miss and Mr. I walked up to his desk at the front of the class.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Hastings?”
In the entire year he had talked to me a handful of times. We had never hit it off and so most of the time I just tried to stay quiet, do enough of my work to get by and stay out of his way.
“Mr. Remington. I've been re-assessing how our class is organized and I've come to the conclusion that the right thing to do is to have Miss Paulson sit over by the window and you to sit in the fourth row.
The fourth row! That was in medium land. I didn't sit in medium land. What was going on? It was April 1st, April Fools Day. Maybe this was some kind of practical job by Mr. Hastings? No, little chance of that, I had seen no evidence that Mr. Hastings had a sense of humor of any kind.
Of course, Mr. Hastings wasn't one for explanation. He simply pointed to my desk which had been moved to the fourth row, fifth slot back. Not only was I banished to medium land, I wasn't even considered the best of the mediums. It was a big step down for me and I was embarrassed, but Mr. Hastings didn't put up with any back talk in his class so my walk back to my desk was in silence. I said nothing and no one else did. Yep, that was my desk, pencil shavings, eraser fragments and five sheets of paper poking out of the guts of my desk. The window was no longer mine, but I did notice as I slipped into my seat that sitting in the back wasn't so bad. Mr. Hastings couldn't really see all the way back, and as long as I didn't attract attention I would probably be left alone.
Mr. Hastings started the day's lessons. He spent most of the day sitting at his desk and having the girls with the best printing write the assignments up on the blackboard. I don't know why, but at least in Mr. Hastings class, the cutest girls just happened to have the best printing. Once an assignment was on the board, Mr. Hastings would lecture for a few minutes, have us open our books to the appropriate pages, review the material with us, then give us fifteen minutes to start working on the homework. Then he would repeat the process four more times in the day, covering reading, geography, mathematics, science and history. Toss in recess and lunch and you had a full day.
Up until April 1st I had relied on the view outside the window to keep me sane. Mr. Hastings had a monotone voice and was definitely not an inspiring lecturer. There were days when it was hard not to fall asleep as he droned on. But I no longer had the window. I was in the middle, in the back, well away from the windows and the people I had spent the year with.
It was even stranger at lunch. I had never really noticed it before, but in the lunch room we sat in roughly the same groups as we did in the classroom. It was Enchilada day so I bought a plate lunch. By the time I had waited in line quite a few of our class was sitting down at our long table in the lunchroom. I walked to where I usually sat with the rest of the fifth and sixth row students and quickly noticed I wasn't welcome. No one said anything. That was part of the problem, they simply acted like I wasn't there. Debra now sat with them. I stood there for a moment then decided to hell with them and walked over to the section of the table where the mediums sat. Art Kilmer (row four, seat three) motioned me over to a free spot in the boy's section of the medium group's seating area. I nodded to him, sat down and began eating my lunch.
“What was that about? I couldn't believe he moved you into our group. Did he catch you cheating?”
“No, no, I wasn't cheating. I don't know what's going on. I sure didn't see that coming.”
“Well, you're more fun than Debra. She always acted like she was too good for us.”
All the other boys had something to say about what happened that morning, but in general, they welcomed me to medium land. Lunch went by fast, the enchiladas were good, as they always were, and soon we were walking back to class, me with my new medium land buddies and Debra with her new smart buddies.
Actually medium land wasn't that bad. I got to sit in the back of the class. Mr. Hastings paid absolutely no attention to me. Homework and schoolwork in general for the mediums wasn't as hard as it had been in row six. For example, the smarts might have to do all the even numbered problems (2 through 50) from chapter 12 of our math book, whereas us mediums, we just had to do problems 1-20 (including the odd numbered problems). Getting to do the odd numbered problems was sweet because the answers to the odd numbered problems were in the back of the book. Just that kind of thing alone caused my grades to go up.
My grades went up for another reason. I was sort of pissed. Mr. Hastings had no right to re-classify me. Well, he did have a right to run his classroom as he saw fit, but I had no idea what he was trying to do by moving me to medium land. I was determined to prove him wrong. Yeah, I know what you were thinking, you think he was trying to motivate me to work harder. Wait a little before you come to that conclusion, you haven't heard the whole story.
So, yeah, I buckled down, just not in the way Mr. Hastings probably wanted me to. I quit listening to his lectures and just started reading the books. As soon as the assignment was written on the blackboard I started working on it as Mr. Hastings' voice droned on and on. As he started his review of the material I would be wrapping up the assignment and then with the fifteen minutes that was supposed to be used for starting the assignment I went back and checked all my work. By the end of my first two full weeks in medium land my lowest grade was a 98. I was pulling A's in all my subjects and generally had time for some recreational reading while everyone else was busting their chops on their homework. What did I get for my good grades? I was moved. Yes, I was moved to row three, seat four. I was moved backwards, not forwards. I was in the next to last seat in medium land and I had the highest grades I had all year.
Well, screw that! I backed it off a little bit for the next three weeks, consciously lowering my grades into the low 90's and high 80's. For the year, I was averaging just over 90 in all subjects. Did I get moved again? No, not this time. So, I get moved backwards for making practically all 100's and don't get moved for making nearly ten points less. It didn't make any sense to me, but I really didn't care. What was annoying was there seemed to be no correlation between my grades and what Mr. Hastings thought of me.
We had two weeks left of real work, the last week of class was a blow-off, or at least we all thought. My plan was to burn it up in those two weeks, then sleep the last week. I did burn it up, all 100's and my average was comfortably above 90 in all subjects now when Mr. Hastings delivered the kicker: finals. This was the sixth grade, we didn't know what finals were. He explained it to us on the Friday before our last week of class just a few minutes before the final bell and the start of the weekend.
“Next week, each day you will take a comprehensive test on a subject. That test will cover everything on that subject we have discussed throughout the entire year. Each morning you will have a chance to review the course material either on your own or in groups. I suggest you work in groups. I suggest you spend some time this weekend preparing your review materials. Each afternoon you will take a test. I will allow you two hours to take the test. Each test will account for thirty percent of your final grade in the subject. On Monday you will be tested in Mathematics. Tuesday you will take a reading test. Wednesday will be the Geography test. Thursday will be the Science test and Friday will be the History test.”
At first you could hear a pin drop in the classroom. Then you started hearing the sniffling. Two of the girls in row five began to cry. It was one hell of a way to start a weekend. The bell rang. Rows one through four leaped out of their seats and out the door. Rows five and six hung back to put together their study plans. I hung back for a moment and looked at them as they quickly fell into groups. Plans were quickly devised. It was clear that I was not a part of their study plans. I grabbed my Mathematics and Geography books and walked out of the classroom. I wasn't worried about the reading test and had no plans to study for it. The rest of my classmates were scattered to the four winds. No study group for me, which was all right by me. I figured that if I didn't already know the material there was little point in a mad weekend desperate attempt to learn everything. I did plan to do a light review of Mathematics and Geography but that was about it for my study plans for the weekend.
Well, my plans didn't get that far. I managed to find enough stuff to do over the weekend that by Sunday evening I hadn't studied at all. I decided to spend one hour going over Math Sunday evening. I slept well that night. I didn't see any real point in worrying. About half of rows one through four felt the same way, they figured there wasn't much point in pulling all nighters. The other half of rows one through four were scared out of their minds. Lack of sleep, pressure, fear, and everything else had combined together into an overwhelming panic attack for some.
Interestingly, most of rows five and six were tottering on the edge of panic. So much so that several of them deigned to talk to me Monday morning before the class bell rang, even though I now lived in medium land.
“Drew, did you study this weekend? I did, five hours Saturday, six hours Sunday then I got up two hours early this morning to review everything.”
“Drew, look at this. I wrote 18 pages of notes, covering everything from September to now.”
Some told me of their study groups, some told me about studying alone. All of them had a shitty weekend. I didn't have the heart to tell them I had only studied an hour on Sunday.
That morning the class was in a review frenzy. The half of rows one through four that hadn't worried over the weekend were caught up in the other half's fear and panic. Rows five through six broke into their groups and jealously guarded their notes.
Me? I flipped through my Math book, worked through a couple of problems that didn't come natural to me and passed the time.
At lunch everyone was studying something. One group from row five and six began to get nervous about the reading test and started perseverating on when would they find time to study for that test. That day we began to have a sense of what pressure could feel like.
Me? I had brought my lunch and would the rest of the week. The last week of school the plate lunch was a deadly combination of everything that hadn't gone bad or run out. I ate my ham sandwich, chips and cookies in peace and quiet.
After lunch Mr. Hastings gave us 15 more minutes for a final review and prayer. Then he handed out the test. Fifty questions and problems. As soon as each person got their test they immediately started working problems. I flipped through all of the pages, seeing what kind of problems and questions faced me. The first fifteen problems were straightforward equations to work through and solve. Then they were twenty word problems and then fifteen multiple choice questions. In reading through the test I saw about five problems that looked difficult. The rest I could handle.
There are some people who take pride in finishing first when taking a test. Randy Gunderson was one of those. He sat in desk two of row six and finished the test in 25 minutes. As soon as he handed in his test, there were groans and murmurs across the class room. As you might recall, Mr. Hastings gave us two hours to take the test. I've never understood the desire to be the first to finish the test if you don't get points for finishing ahead of time. Me, I take as long as I've got with tests. After all, it's not like anyone is going to let you leave early just because you finished the test early and there's too much chance that in the hurry you screw something up.
I had worked through every problem at the one hour mark, then spent the second hour working through and checking every problem. I was the last one to turn in my test, with one minute to spare before the two hours were up.
“Found it to be harder than you expected, eh, Mr. Remington?” Mr. Hastings seemed to be downright pleased at my discomfort and struggles.
“No sir, I just took my time working through the questions.” Got to remember, the goal isn't to always annoy the adults. I could tell that I had once again annoyed Mr. Hastings.
It was time for recess but no one seemed interested in recessing. Everyone wanted to talk about the test.
“What did you get for question 5?
“Oh, God, I really screwed up. I'm going to fail. My parents will kill me.”
Randy bragged about being the first to finish and rode me about being last to finish.
“Drew, I don't how you were ever on row six. Mr. Hastings ought to move you to row one as slow as you work.”
There were some hateful stares from the members of row one.
“Randy, do you get any extra points for finishing first?”
“Well, no.”
“Do I lose points by finishing last?”
“No, but you must be dumb to take that long.”
“Maybe I'm just thorough.”
He didn't really have anything to say to that.
Once back in the classroom Mr. Hastings added one more thing to the mix. He mentioned that over the next four days he would spend a few minutes with each of us, a final assessment of our strengths and weaknesses. He would do so row by row starting with row six tomorrow morning. That was fine with me, I wasn't exactly anxious to hear Mr. Hastings' opinion on me.
Tuesday morning before we began our review for our reading test that afternoon Mr. Hastings handed back our graded Math finals. There were a few “whew's” and some groans and one of the girls in row five broke down and cried. Mr. Hastings handed my paper to me. My grade was a 96 and with that my A in Mathematics was locked in. If I didn't know better Mr. Hastings didn't seem all that pleased with my grade, but I didn't care. I was happy with it.
Oh yeah, Randy Gunderson made an 88. So that's what finishing first does for you? Barbara Sanders who sat in desk one of row six made a 100 and Jenny Edwards made a 98. I had the third highest grade in the class. Not bad for a kid from medium land.
The rest of the week went about the same. Each morning Mr. Hastings returned the graded test from the day before and then we reviewed for the test that afternoon. Each day Mr. Hastings worked his way through the rows, talking to all of row six and five on Tuesday. Most of them came back from Mr. Hasting's desk with a smile on their face. Wednesday morning we got back our reading tests, I made a 98. Wednesday morning Mr. Hastings talked to row four. Two came back from his desk with a smile. One came back with a worried look on his face. Two came back with tears in their eyes. Wednesday afternoon was our Geography test. Once again, I took all but a couple of minutes of the two hours. After recess it was my turn to listen to Mr. Hasting's assessment of me.
“Mr. Remington, please sit down.”
I did.
“Mr. Remington, you're a smart student, but you just don't apply yourself.”
“Mr. Hastings, I have an A in Mathematics and Reading don't I?”
“Well, yes, you do.”
“And my average is high enough in everything else I could make a D on the remaining finals and still have a final grade of a B in each subject.”
“Well, I don't know about that. I would have to check the math.”
“You don't need to. I already did. My lowest average in the remaining three subjects is a 92. I could make a 60 on the final and still have an 82 as my final average. At the worst, I'm going to have 2 solid A's and three solid B's. At the worst. There's a good chance I'll do better than that.”
“Mr. Remington. That is my point. You make plans to do 'good enough' and not to excel. That's a waste of your talent. That is why I moved you to row four and then to row three, to get you to realize you are wasting your talent. You will notice your grades became better after I moved you.”
He had a point, but so did I, but I realized I wasn't going to win this time around. And since I wasn't going to win, my goal was to get it over as soon as possible but not let him have the pleasure of thinking he won.
He talked on for a few minutes but I had quit listening.
“Mr. Remington, I hope you take this heart to heart seriously. Now, go back to your desk.”
I made an 83 on my Geography final and a 92 on my Science final. For the year, my grade in Geography was a high B and in Science I had a solid A. That was three A's and a B with one to go. To throw on the last bit of stress into the lives of those who cared, Mr. Hastings announced Friday morning that there would be no review time, that we would take the History final that morning so he could grade them over lunch and get the final grades back to us that afternoon before we left for the summer.
More groans, more crying, and then he handed out the test and all went to work. I'm good at History so I wasn't worried.
Turns out I made a 100 on the History final. Randy Gunderson, who once against finished the fastest, was convinced I had cheated.
“There's no way that someone from row four could make the highest grade in class, not unless they cheated.”
“Shut up, Randy.”
“You can't tell me to shut up.”
“I just did.”
We both looked at each other, neither one of us wanting to go any further with this, but I was just tired enough of him that I was willing to push it. He broke eye contact first.
“Ah, what do I care. Maybe you cheated, maybe you didn't. Maybe you just got lucky. Yeah, that's it, you just got lucky.”
“Luckier than your 82.”
He really didn't have much more to say.
For the year, five A's and a B. Not bad, not bad at all. Not a bad way to wrap up elementary school. Summer was finally here and next fall, Bonham Junior High and the seventh grade.
A murderer walks among us - part 2
The West Texas killings moved to the front page on Friday, July 17, 1970 with the headline “Go-Go Dancer Death Probed: Found In Bed Stabbed.” Twenty-six year old Eula May Rogers Miller was found dead in her East Eighth Street apartment on Thursday afternoon. Her nude body was found on her bed by the manager of the apartment complex. According to the coroner's report she had been stabbed twice in the head and four times in the chest. Mrs. Miller was last seen alive on the previous Saturday. Police theorized she was murdered in her apartment sometime Sunday night. An assistant manager of the apartments said she had been in the apartment on Monday to see if she could allow exterminators in for pest removal. She noticed that Mrs. Miller was in bed and nude, and though she thought that was strange, assumed Ms. Miller was asleep.
Since October 1968, a little over a year and a half, three women had been killed in West Texas for no apparent reason. Most people can deal with murders they can explain, but when women get killed for no reason, no jealous boyfriend, no out-of-control husband, no signs of too much alcohol, people start getting nervous.
What they didn't know was that things were just going to get worse.
Next week in Episode 10: Drew meets a new friend, Odessa alleys aren’t the best places to spend time, the first days at Bonham Junior High School, Mr. Hastings’s reach extends beyond the sixth grade. For all of the details see: Episode 10 of The Cold Days of Summer .
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