When I was a youngster, the principal of my elementary school was the most intimidating figure I thought existed on the planet.  His name was Harry Spurgeon.

Looking backwards, I am delighted Mr. Spurgeon was what he was.

One day when I was in kindergarten, I was a little too rambunctious for the teacher’s good.  I was probably fine with it. She was not.  There was almost a hint of devious glee in her voice as she took me to the hallway and left me there to myself for a little while.  Her words are still piercing to my memory cells. She said, before she quickly shut the door, “You better hope Mr. Spurgeon doesn’t find you out here.”  At that moment I was wondering how far a five year old could go on a Greyhound Bus.  I was ready to run.  Fortunately, my teacher had pity on me and allowed me to rejoin the fray in short order.

As much as we feared the man, we loved him also.  By this time his career was winding down; he retired after my 4th grade year.  Our elementary school had 5 grades.

Mr. Spurgeon had a gleam in his eyes when he talked to you.  The truth is…he could not hear very well.  He looked at us and smiled  a great deal.  When you tried to talk to him he would shake his head in agreement….and give you some verbal affirmation.  If he did not have a good feeling about what was being said and needed more information he would yell “WHAT!?”

He always told us to “BE NICE!” when we were eating in the cafeteria.  It just came from nowhere.  “BE NICE!”

“EAT THOSE GREEN BEANS!”  “EAT THAT CORN!”

When he would yell those edicts out, forks and spoons moved at breakneck speed.

He also had a reputation of being a fair swat with the old paddle.  It was said that if Pete Rose could have used Mr. Spurgeon’s paddle as a bat he would hit .450 in 1976.

There are urban legends.  Like how Mr. Spurgeon paddled Craig Lewis for puking on the new carpet.  That never happened.  It just sounded good.

I can tell you, however, it did not feel good in 1978.  It was to be Mr. Spurgeon’s last Springtime to Swing the Paddle.  I capitalize those words in honor.

My dear friend Jerry and I got a personal meeting each with Mr. Spurgeon and his board of education.  I think he gave us three swats each.  What was the crime, you ask?

We got caught chewing gum in music class.  I told you Harry was old school.  Was he ever!  I am in earnest when I say Jerry and I were his last board meetings.  Knowing he paddled half the kids in Brownstown our age or older, we consider ourselves to be the last two home runs.

I don’t regret any of it.  Neither Jerry nor myself had to attend therapy to calm ourselves of Mr. Spurgeon.  Our biggest chore was not letting word get back home about the incident.  Remember when a Dad would say “Whatever you get from the principal at school, it will be much worse when you get home.”  We might as well of signed our own death certificates.

Our folks never found out until years and years later.  Jerry’s Dad died in 1991 (I loved that man).  I know he never found out.

Be nice.  That was the mantra over and over and over again.  Mr. Spurgeon told us to be nice.

I wish more folks could have spent some time with Harry Spurgeon.

I recently had the misfortune of dealing with a lady in a professional setting…a college campus to be exact.  It was her job to assist me.  She gets paid to help folks when they need certain services that are of a clerical nature.  She was nasty.  She was not nice.

Her directions were not clear.  Her posture, her voice, and her attitude all matched: mean.  She had a secretary I talked to on the phone and she had emailed me some stuff.  That same lady was there trying to be helpful as that old battleaxe…oops…I know, I need to be nice.

I will be nice.  I think I am going to send that lady’s secretary a sympathy card.

Today and tomorrow do us all a favor: “BE NICE!”

As we…speak the rights.

Danny Johnson