Part One

T'was the third day of June back in'64, a bubbly breeze billowing by Rockaway blew boys brains off book and school chore; breathing bright lights of a long holiday. Scattering papers and shuttering text, It enthralled Tom Dooling, the class fool As for answers the teachers would prospect, At the end of our eighth grade of school. Rippling the flow of Jamaica Bay, the sea breezed puffed to suggest Days without rote learning to ingest, Only joys of endless sunny day. All gone in the dream fully Even our monitor no longer rough (no cops in class then, just a tough used by teacher to tame any jack-ass or would-be bully.) All lost in pure delight, As teacher taught lessons to digest All saw dawn would wrest the end of darkest night.

Jimmy the scholar remained Above the breeze, he disdained "I can't ask Jimmy to recite all the lesson. I call on you slaggards, I usually suspect," The teacher mocked, "To make you learn, That's my profession." The breeze promised deserved rest and relaxation, And the year of the end of grade school hence. If our breeze could sail us to graduation, A few days of knowledge, what was the sense ? A doldrum in the flow, despoiler of magic Stood the imperious teacher With English, History and Mathematic. Pendantic as a martinet, Dogmatic as a preacher. Smothering mischief with a smirking Boo, Parsing the pupils with a piercing eye, She stifled Jimmy not to let the answer fly, "Instead, I call my usual suspect... Mr. Dooling...especially you... "

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Part Two

Her face melted into the furry of frown When she turning from Jimmy the bright light To Tom Dooling, the light hearted class clown. Learning, Dooling chided, is certainly not here As days now project, to ending our last school year. Enchanting breeze stirred up fun, Rascalry, devilish mirth in the air Dooling fessed in disrespect "My homework's undone." Rejecting all who for mercy sue, Strong and steadfast in her look She pointed to Jimmy, head down in a book. "If he can do it, why not you ?" Beside the class clown was Jimmy's chair, Where James toiled day long no regret Wisdom, he sought, kept him burning A slave to schoolwork, study and learning.

The brisk breeze was a liar, a sham It promised bright stars and sail, When we tasted tests and exam, Crowed the teacher, "I expect, Most will pass; a few could fail." She turned down Jim's hand with a laugh Her finger waivering in a circle half, "It's Dooling whose work I'll inspect." Eyes turned upon him And nasty words said With a laugh replied Jim Words harm not my head. Nerves were a fraying When grades she did call Always a braying "If James can do it, why not you-all." Brown ! We chided Jim Catch you outside ? We'll have your skin.

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Part Three

To threats, Jim stayed aloof This morning at class' head He left subtle reproof: An apple its husk gleaming red. To answer the silent dare or invite Tom Dooling held the red sphere a fore, And gave it a bite. Taunting Jim, "I want more" Tom gulped it down, Leaving the core, A present from the Class Clown. A champion not fooling The dare was burning: For the students stood Dooling Only Jim defended learning. Battle lines drawn with all in shock, Said the monitor, "Don't fight now, It's almost nine o'clock."

The champions looked about in dismay. The monitor added, Let all agree We'll settle up the manly way Mix it rightly, but after three. The sea breeze complying in an abate, The class sensing, an eerie calm waxed Heads down in studies, devouring text The clock clicking slowly to await fate. Plying the daily rote, The teacher said in jest, "I'd hate to gloat, Even Dooling is perfect." Answers given all exact We carried the pretense Carefully, with respect to hide the true purpose and real intent.

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Part Four

A quiet hush at recess fell, No boyish games begun, The three o'clock dismissal bell, would signal all the fun The breeze was hiding, Far beyond the breaker beach Keeping the true tiding, Beyond the teacher's reach. Troubled by uncertain prospect, the teacher called Jim Aside, "There's something I suspect, Something you shouldn't hide." Unwaivering in denial, Jim refused to defect. He faced his manly trial with becalmed introspect, Resolute in his smile. Afternoon flying by, As a special treat, Teacher turned detention Into a spelling meet

Teacher watching onward With a quiering eye No trouble did we try Nor utter word untoward The outcoming now unfolding Lack precedents yet heard. Ahead to first surged Dooling Leaving Jim a clinging third. The dreadful rout was over By the magic stroke of three the school Bell chimed and rung Dooling in first in clover While Jim missed L-I-B-E-R-T-Y. Outside the breeze beckoning Blithely from beach to bay wall Crackling and swirling dried leaves Left behind from the Fall. To the school yard, they carried the dare, As dukes raised firmly, the fight in the air Before blows struck in reckoning The school monitor interceded "Don't fight here, Fight over there."

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Part Five

Just beyond the gates we streamed To watch Jim drop his guard to plea for reason In a manner easy, convincing and even serene Dooling threw a punch in reply, "It's fighting season." Jim fell back, his eyes strained narrow And Jim wound a round house quick as a sparrow And releasing the furies, he let his fists fly And socked poor Tom right in the eye Tom fell to the ground like a dirty old rag. Crying out in anguish, "What have I done ?" Jim kneeled and held his face like a hag As we replied gleefully, "James you have won." The teacher came running, "It's what I would dread, My usual suspect, gone sick in the head." Flapping his white emblem, And stirring from his neglect, The Monitor yelled, "Cut it out." To James praying

And to Dooling sprawled about. Before the teacher proceeded, hanging his head in shame, Jim freely conceded: "I hit Tom, I am to blame." A short lived triumph, The cheering dying Had tables turned. Would the genius be a frying ? "A sense of honor, I detect, By this there is no shame." The teacher roared a hrumph. "I decide whom to protect and upon whom to fix blame." "I see a clown laying idly in the dust. He took his fair lump. It's his hard luck, I'm saying certainly as I must." Jim rose from his knees grunting a pained sigh. "If spring fever seizes," The breeze blew in reply "Upon me, do rely."

Read J D Collins' Military Police Stories in the The Inditer on Line

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