Often when reading a book, you will come across a new word or a word used in a different way.  I try to write these words down if a dictionary is not nearby; today, this is the typical situation since I do a lot of reading in bed while I’m trying to get sleepy.  Today, it is particularly easy to find these words later on the Merriam-Webster [free] website.  Another good source of new words is political speeches or newspaper articles.  One place you don’t want to find a new word is on the playground at school, and that’s what this essay is all about. This is especially true if you attempt to use that word without finding out its complete meaning. 

 

I went the first two years at the old Grammar school in Rockingham starting in the fall of 1948.  For the third year, I went to school in the Sunday school rooms of the First Baptist Church.  For the fourth year, I went to school in the Sunday school rooms of the First Methodist Church.  I was beginning

to feel abandoned by the Administration (Principal Ms. Bessie Terry and associates) at the main Grammar school (on Washington Street at the intersection with Lawrence Street), where we at least went for lunch every day.  Everybody really loved “Ms. Bessie” as we affectionately referred to her; it would have been nice to see her once in a while.  Near the end of the fourth grade, we all paraded to the brand new L. J. Bell Elementary School.  Then I felt like I was included again.  That was really a very nice school especially compared to the old school and the make-do Sunday school rooms.  Everything was new including all the chairs, desks, the blackboards and the tile flooring.  We even had an intercom system where the principal could speak to all the students and faculty without loosing the time involved in an assembly.  Of course it was sometimes difficult to understand what they were saying, but that didn’t deter them from using it with the least of reasons. Starting in the fifth grade, Mr. Mulky became the new principal.  He was a fine Southern gentleman, but he really scared me back then.  We used to say “he ate nails for breakfast” and that was why he was so tough (looking anyhow).  Some called him Coach Mulky as I think he was formally at least an assistant coach at the High School or maybe the Junior High.            

 

Actually, it was my older brother (four years older than me) who picked up this word; he was already in Junior High.  Also, there was a neighbor boy, Chuck (named changed), who was older than me, but he was, I think, at least one year junior to my brother.  His father was in the Army at Fort Bragg, but his family lived in Rockingham.  Chuck often stayed with his unmarried Aunts who lived just three or four houses down from us, and that is how we knew him.  There were four or five of these sisters, but Chuck’s mother was the only one to ever marry.  Actually there were many military families living in Rockingham at the time.  The way I knew this was that my mother used to work as a seamstress for Watt’s Cleaners down on west Washington Street.  She would change their patches for them whenever they got  promoted or changed units.  I usually received the old patches and chevrons, which I then had my mother attach to my jacket sleeves.  This was a fad with the boys at school, and I had more and better ones than almost anyone.  World War II had ended about seven years before this time, and all the military men (active as well as veterans) were still heroes especially to young boys.  In fact most of the boy’s fathers had served during the war including my father and Mr. Otto Withers (name changed) at church with whom I practiced my new word.

 

My brother and Chuck were using the expression son of a “D. B”.  Now, of course, we had no idea what it meant, especially what the “D.B.” meant.  We kids made a game of trying to guess what the “D.B.” represented.  Well after a day or two of this we finally asked our mother what it meant.  Needless to

say, we got her attention. Whenever we would say a dirty word, we had our mouths washed out with soap.  We really did.  I found that Ivory soap was better tasting than Octagon soap.  It doesn’t take a nine or ten year old boy very long to conclude that it was probably better to not say those words since with the soap ordeal, it just wasn’t worth it.  Anyhow she told us that the “B” was another word for a mother dog; and that we should never use that word again.  The “D” of course was one of those four letter words with which we were already familiar.  My older brother and Chuck were admonished, but I don’t think they were physically punished.  Well I liked dogs, and I liked puppies; so maybe I should try this word somewhere else other than around my mother.  Poor Mr. Withers was my victim.  We were at church after the service was completed, and he was mentioning something to me I didn’ t like; so as I departed I used that expression on him.  Well as on old Navy man, he sure knew what it meant.  He told me that it was bad, and that he was going to tell my father.  He did.  My father was not happy with me to say the least.

 

Now that was not very smart of me.  One thing, as a Navy veteran, he was one of my heroes; and I had just insulted him.  Also he had two daughters about my age, both of whom were quite attractive.  Now, for a word to the wise:  Any of you young Romeos out there who might be interesting in attracting the attention of a young lady and possible sweetheart, it is not a good idea to begin this relationship by calling her father an “S.O.B”.

 

My father explained the bad connotation of this expression. Well, for one thing, if you were interested in a good fight, all you had to do was go into any of the beer joints in and around Rockingham and use this word on the clientele.  As part of my punishment, I was required to apologize to Mr. Withers.  I did.  He was very receptive, accepted my apology and never spoke of it again.  He was an exceptionally fine Christian man.  In later life, he was not only a good friend of mine, but also of our entire family.  He visited us in Gastonia up to the time of his death in the mid sixties.  

 

Well I just never did get to first base with either of these young ladies.  When we moved to Gastonia in 1954, I never saw either of them again until several years ago (2002) when some old friends from the Church met with us at the Fellowship Hall.  The younger of the two ladies was there, and we had a good

conservation of the good old times.