Northern Lehigh School District
Warning.
I went to a really strange school district. I attended Northern Lehigh, and later taught there. And the whole time, I assumed all school districts were something like that.
Then I moved away, and discovered that it was just that I was in a weird school district, the whole time.
This entire page is basically just my rambling on and reminiscing about the school district I attended as a kid. It's highly entertaining, at least to me, because the entire district was more than a little bizarre. But if you're not in the mood for a long, drawn-out essay, better stop reading now. In fact, don't even finish this warning.
I don't have a lot of residual loyalty to my alma mater. Which makes it really easy to write about. And before you start, I'd like to swear that every word of this is true. Seriously. I know it all sounds weird, but trust me, my imagination is nowhere near this good.
And, by the way....I know my tenth-grade writing teacher would be ashamed of my work on this page. Sorry, Mrs. Turoscy. I'll do better next time.
Guidance Counseling
When I got to Junior High in the seventh grade, Mr. Bonner, the Guidance Counselor, came around and introduced himself. Turns out Mr. Bonner was also the football coach. Therefore, Guidance Counseling in Northern Lehigh Junior High meant you got your head banged against a locker while he told you to shape up. At one point, he announced to the school board that he was retiring from coaching to devote himself more to his counseling duties. The school board's response was, essentially,"No! Don't do that; coaching was all you were ever good at!"
But at the time, on that first day I encountered him, I thought this was the coolest thing. I went home and told my mother,"Guess what? We got a Guidance Counselor! If we have problems, we can go and talk to this guy!"
"You've always had one of those," my mother told me. "There's an Elementary School Guidance Counselor, too."
Which was strange, because in the seven years it took me to get from Kindergarten to sixth grade, I'd never seen or heard of this guy. Not once. I later found out it was because he'd spent my entire school career asleep.
Literally asleep. Now that I'm older, and a legal taxpayer, I can get good and outraged about this kind of thing.
Rolly Griffith, the Northern Lehigh Elementary Guidance Counselor, was basically just hanging on until retirement. You'd think that over seven years would be a long time to sleep away, but somehow, Griffith managed. Every day, he would come in, prop his feet up on his desk, and go to sleep. Every day. For over a decade. Your tax dollars at work.
Only one student ever managed to wake up Griffith for any length of time. That was Little Earl.
Little Earl was the son of the creatively named Big Earl, the huge janitor of the High School. When Little Earl entered kindergarten, it didn't take long for everybody to see that he was disturbed. The father was no Albert Einstein, but the kid was definitely fruitcrackers.
Early on in his school career, Little Earl established that, if left in the cafeteria for lunch, he would cause some sort of disturbance. After the first few days, it was decided that Little Earl was to eat lunch in the conference room, away from the other kids, where he couldn't do as much damage.
The school office was set up in a sort of alcove, with the conference room on one side, and Griffith's office directly opposite. So Little Earl ended up eating lunch in a room just across from the Guidance Counselor.
Now, Little Earl would invariably wolf down his lunch in the first five minutes of the period. And then he would spend the rest of the lunch break by the door, chewing on the doorknob.
I'd like to say that again: Little Earl would finish his lunch, and then chew on the doorknob.
This was the only thing I ever heard that Griffith would wake up for. He was fascinated with Little Earl. So every day, for lunch, he'd wake up long enough to watch this kid across the office, gnawing on doorknobs.
But if Little Earl realized Griffith was watching, he'd stop. So Griffith took to hiding behind his desk, peering over the top to watch Little Earl chew on the doorknob of the conference room.
Now that I'm older, I have to wonder about it. In the nine or so years it took Little Earl to get out of Elementary school, I have to wonder how many parents walked into the office to find a kid chewing on the doorknob, while the school guidance counselor hid behind a desk and watched him.
The School Play, Music Teachers, And The Director Of Janitorial Services
A man named Larry Williams was our district's Director of Janitorial Services. Larry graduated from NL in 1975, and immediately went to work for the district as a janitor. He worked his way up, and by the time I got to school, he was the Director. He never rose any higher than that, however, because he didn't have the educational background.
Two things he did have, however, was talent and a history in the theater. Larry's father had been a stage director of some sort in Allentown, and Larry grew up around the theater. So Larry, by default, got to direct the annual high school musicals, because he was the best at it.
Northern Lehigh knew when it had a good deal. During the four months every year when Larry was putting together the musical, they hired an Assistant Director Of Janitorial Services. In other words, they hired somebody to do Larry's job while Larry ran the school play. But it worked, though---The Northern Lehigh Bulldogs couldn't win anything. Not football, baseball, soccer, volleyball, track, basketball, debate, checkers, anything. (My friends and I were pretty good at the fights that broke out after the games, but I don't think that counts.) But we had the most phenomenal school musicals.
I worked with Larry twice, during "Grease" and "Damn Yankees", which originally I'd thought was a Civil War show. Larry was good, I admit. I kind of got to like the man. If you take John Candy, grow a beard on him, and give him a thick Pennsylvania Dutch accent, that's Larry.
When it was time to hire a new music teacher in the district, the school board automatically turned to Larry. The head janitor. He was the only one with the talent or the background to be able to tell if a music teacher was any good or not. So, when a new music teacher applied for a job with NLSD, she was interviewed by the Elementary School Principal, the High School Principal, the School Superintendent, and the Director Of Janitorial Services.
And you'll never guess which of them had the final say.
I was taught by several music teachers, and later worked with a couple. And I have to be amused at how many of them left the interview shaking their heads, wondering why they'd just been hired by Northern Lehigh's top janitor.
Go Bulldogs.
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