Just Let Them Fall

St. Ambrose School was only two blocks away from home. You go down South Park, past Marilla, make a right on O'kell, and it's right there, you can't miss it. It was a catholic school, with a church and everything, but tuition was low, so just about everyone in my neighborhood went there. I walked. Past the bus stop where all the kids waited for the public school buses, past the police station, even in the snow it didn't take long.

Upon entering the sixth grade at St. Ambrose, I, along with my classmates, was given the option of becoming a member of the famed Safety Patrol. This was the first phase to becoming a recognized member of the junior high, and a necessary one at that. It gave us a chance to exert a new authority. For the first time in our academic careers, we could actually intimidate the kids in the lower grades. Granted our power was very limited at first, but it was by no means underestimated. From the sixth grade on, a kid's actions determined his or her standing among their peers. This would eventually carry over to whichever high school we would attend after our time was up at St. Ambrose. The ability to use fear to influence the weak was a crucial step in one's journey through any elementary school, as it was at St. Ambrose. The Safety Patrol cultured this trait in some of my classmates, but most of us saw it as a prime opportunity among many to goof off and have some fun. I can't recall a single kid in the entire class who was dumb enough not to get on the Patrol.

Now the sixth grade was not the highest grade at the school, as it went all the way up to the eighth. This meant that no one over the sixth grade could be reported for violating the rules on school grounds. Eighth graders could run, throw snowballs, walk on the grass and generally do whatever they pleased within reason. It was an unwritten rule of sorts; a sign of respect among the older students. The principal, Sister Kathleen, didn't pay attention to what the older kids did unless it was really out of hand, so basically seventh and eighth graders had their run of the school. Those who crossed the line would catch all kinds of hell. Scott Klyszack once told a seventh grader to "walk" and he went home with a fat lip. That sort of thing didn't happen too often though. No Patrol member really cared about those kids beyond their jurisdiction anyway.

Joining the Patrol was easy. Everyone had to go see Ms. Colosta, the so-called faculty captain of the force and one of the two sixth grade teachers. She was nice but had the eyes of Satan (at least we used to think so). Her stare scared everybody, and she loved to grab kids by the arm when she got pissed off. Anyway, she would hand you a tightly folded orange shoulder strap with a shiny, silver badge clipped on top. A few geeks got ones that had red or blue borders around the badge that read "lieutenant" or "captain," but they never had any more authority then the rest of us. They usually got stuck stopping traffic in front of the school so the little children could cross. They took a lot of pride in their job, since it actually entailed some responsibility, but of course they didn't have any fun. While they stood at their posts, John Abraham, Mark Honan, Frankie and I were running around the school with Mark Ferrie's hat. You could hear him yelling, "Come on guys!" for a three block radius as he chased us trying to get that hat back.

The sixth grade Safety Patrol was divided up into two squads. Since there were two sixth grade classes, this worked out rather nicely. One squad worked the first half of the school year, while the other one took over after Christmas vacation and finished up in the spring. I couldn't wait to get started, but since I was on the second squad, I had to wait my turn. I spent most of October and November studying my colleagues as they enforced the law around St. Ambrose. The more I watched them, the more anxious I got. The Patrol could put the fear of God into the younger kids. Anyone in the fourth grade and under would damn near wet themselves if they got caught running on school grounds. I felt the same way when I was in the lower grades. Of course a Patrol Officer was only supposed give a warning for things like that. Only the real jerks like Joe Buscaglia would report a kid on his first offense.

I think some of my classmates went on a real power trip when they got that badge. It was like the badge gave them a license to do anything. Kevin West and Steve Faltisko did the funniest thing one day. They brought a zip-lock bag filled with confectioner's sugar to Patrol duty and tried to pass it off as cocaine to the little kids. It was funny because they prowled around the school like a couple of thugs with it stuffed in their jackets like it was the real stuff, whipping it out to any little kid who wanted to see it. They spent the morning and lunch shifts going around trying to sell it. Some of the kids got pretty scared, which made us laugh even harder. The girls on our Patrol shift didn't think it was very funny though. Leave it to the damn girls to take all the fun out of everything. They told Ms. Colosta about the whole thing. To my surprise, she handled the situation lightly, at least for her. Instead of taking Kevin and Steve by the arms and screaming at them, she incorporated the incident into our history class. We happened to be studying the judicial system then, so we held a mock trial, with Kevin and Steve as the defendants and the sixth grade class as the prosecution. It was kind of fun really, I testified against them, along with several members of the Patrol, and of course they were found guilty. They were mad that their friends squealed on them like that, but I don't think their sentence was too harsh. Everybody thought the whole thing was hilarious.

The punishment for minor offenses like running usually consisted of taking the kid to Ms. Polito's classroom. The more serious offenses would result in a trip to Sister Kathleen's office. Ms. Polito was the other sixth grade teacher (the faculty co-captain of the Patrol) and looked completely harmless when compared to Ms. Colosta. She was a dark-haired woman, very quiet and petite, and yet the mere sight of her would make a kid cry like hell. I remember when I was reported one time in the second grade I bawled in front of her whole class. I think that was when I threw one of my Star Wars figures at Chris Murphy on my way to lunch and hit him on his ear. It couldn't have hurt too much, but he acted like it did, and one of the Patrol officers was watching when it happened. What really got me in trouble was when I tried to get away. After I hit Chris with Han Solo, I ran like crazy. Of course the highly skilled Patrol Force caught up with me later. When lunch was over, I was greeted by three members of the Safety Patrol and they promptly escorted me to Ms. Polito's room. As soon as I saw her I started crying. I have no idea why I was so terrified. It was like being reported meant that some ugly scar was going on your permanent academic records. Ms. Polito always took mercy you though. She would calm you down and gently tell you to walk when on school property, and to not throw things at other people. Kids would walk out of her classroom relieved as if they had just escaped death. It was quite a scene.

I don't think I reported more than two or three kids while I was on the Patrol. There was the time Tommy Rogers and I had to report Alicia Flores, a Hispanic fourth grader who had a big mouth. When the weather was warm, students waited outside in the parking lot before school started. Little Alicia refused to stand in line with her classmates, and when Tommy and I told to get in line she wouldn't listen. She said that we couldn't report her for something like that. That's about all we had to hear. We brought her to Ms. Polito. You should've seen the ugly look on Alicia's face on the way up to her classroom. It went away as soon as Ms. Polito saw her. It wasn't too often when Ms. Polito would lose her cool, but I don't think she had much of a tolerance for bratty kids like Alicia. Alicia was told to listen when the Patrol gave an order, and if she ever refused to stand in line again, she would be assigned to after-school detention. Ms. Polito thanked us afterwards, and I couldn't help smiling as we brought Alicia back down to the parking lot. She had that ugly look again, but she knew better then to mess with us again.

Much of my time on Patrol was spent goofing off and not ruining a nine year-old's day. My post was in the parking lot, where I was supposed to keep watch, over what I wasn't sure. I didn't care if kids ran around, as long as they stayed on the sidewalk. As long as the little brats didn't start any trouble, I really didn't care what they did. I didn't spend much time at my post. Instead I would go behind the school and hang out with my buddies. If it were snowing, we would spend the time after lunch pounding each other with snowballs.

Sometimes it was better to stay at my post when there was snow or ice. My fondest memory of the Patrol was standing at my post on a cold January morning, watching as damn near everyone that walked by, whether it was a kid or somebody older, slipped on an ice patch that had formed where the sidewalk met the parking lot. All of the little kids that walked over the ice fell down pretty hard. Sometimes their lunch boxes would pop open, spilling their food all over the place. One kid's apple rolled out into the street and got ran over by a car. Most of the older kids just stumbled, except for Julie Corcran's older sister, who landed right on her ass after stepping off the bus. I stood there from seven-thirty to eight, watching and laughing as more and more kids hit the asphalt. I guess it was my job to warn them about the ice, but I was having such a good time watching everybody stumble, slip, and fall on that tiny patch of ice, so I just let them fall.

When my sixth grade year was almost finished, I went to the fifth grade class with the rest of the current Patrol team to hand over my badge to whomever I thought was best qualified for the job. It was an informal ceremony. Ms. Colosta supervised it. It was too bad it all only lasted a year, but going on to the seventh grade was better. The little kids we busted wouldn't be able to touch us when they got their turn, and when I think about it, the whole idea of a Safety Patrol is a bit silly. I would laugh watching our successors in action. One kid tried to report me for throwing a snowball, but his friends told him to back off. When he didn't listen, I threw a snowball at him and nailed him right on nose.