1968

Throughout your childhood you are constantly learning those “life lessons.”  Some stick and some are forgotten just as quickly as they were learned.  I have a number of life lessons that have been with me my whole life, some guide me while others remind me of mistakes I have made which I hope never to make again.  This story is about one of those rare opportunities to learn something from a person who I admired greatly.  Aside from my father, this individual was probably one of my best sources of “Life’s Lessons.”

Gale “Spider” Spence was a man’s man.  He failed at nothing and excelled at everything.  He always had the right thing to say whether you wanted to hear it or not, usually it was the latter if you were up to no good.  To say I was intimidated by him was an understatement but my admiration for him was great.

On this particular occasion Gale had some advice for me and I have never forgotten it.  I too have even passed it on to other young men, always remembering Gail each time I give the same advice.

Shaking his hand one day, I remember Gail telling me I shake hands like a little girl.  He took my right hand in his and gave it a squeeze, at the same time he stared into my eyes and proclaimed, “A man needs to give a handshake of respect or he shouldn’t bother with the gesture at all.”  He proceeded to teach me the proper etiquette of the “Handshake.”  Squeeze firmly but not too hard, look the person in the eye and give the hand a single shake.  Never squeeze too hard and don’t forget, it is a man’s hand you are shaking, not a slimy fish.  If you shake it too long or too hard, you are once again acting like a child.

These were words of wisdom and they came from the best teacher a young boy could have.

1968

The fish tank was located right next to the office in the hallway where Frank kept watch.  Every day the kids would walk by and check on “Goldie.”  Some kids even taunted the fish or tapped on the glass.  If Frank caught you touching the glass you either had to make a run for it or face the music and his yard sticks.

I am not sure how long that fish lived in the tank, I am not even sure if it was always the same one year after year.  I know catfish can live a long time but I also know that they all look pretty much alike.  So it is possible we were duped into believing it was same one all those years.  This particular “pet” was a bright orange catfish about the size of a golf ball.  He lived alone in the 20 gallon tank and his care was the responsibility of the janitorial staff, mainly Frank Garish.  In the spring of 1968 tragedy struck.

I was certainly not the first to notice him missing and news of his absence spread through the elementary school like a wildfire.  Goldie was missing and rumors were abounding.  Had Frank done something with him?  Was a student to blame?  Was this some kind of cruel prank?  All we knew was that Goldie was missing and everyone suspected everyone else for his disappearance.

Weeks, then months went by and no word of Goldie’s whereabouts.  No one was confessing to his abduction.  A few of the older kids spread ransom notes for his return but all turned out to be false and even fewer of the kids took them as a joke.  If you asked Frank if he knew anything he would just sit there and ignore the comments or chase the kids back to class.

By the end of the school year talk of Goldie had largely abated; the kids had moved on.  The tank sat empty in the hallway for the remainder of the year.  Goldie had been forgotten.

The last week of the school year was time for the annual clean-up.  Classrooms were cleaned out, the cement hallways were polished to shine and most of the school activities were moved to the playground.  Even the office personnel were in cleaning mode. 

That week the mystery of Goldie’s disappearance was also solved.  While cleaning the principal’s office, Goldie was found under the desk, dried out and dead.  He was so well preserved in the dry mountain air that you would have almost thought it was a toy fish.  The ensuing investigation yielded only one possible scenario, Goldie was the “perp” of his own disappearance.  They suspected he had jumped out of the tank, which he had done numerous times in the past.  Walked, like cat fish are known to do, into the office and eventually all the way into the principal’s office.  Eventually succumbing to the dryness and lack of food, Goldie passed away peacefully and out of sight.

The following school year the tank was gone, having been replaced by student artwork and crafts.  Goldie was soon forgotten, well at least for 42 years.