POTATO PICKIN' - a non-musical high school tale

From time to time I'll insert a non-musical (true) tale of my essential idiocy during my high school years at Saranac Lake. Here's one of those true stories.

I never cared much for school, except for the opportunities it provided for imaginative mischievousness and trickery. I was bored by most of my classes. Thus, any opportunity to escape going to school seemed heaven-sent.

Early in those high school years I learned that during the fall harvest it was possible to get time off from school during potato-picking time. All that was required was a note from one's mother authorizing the school to allow boys to go to Gabriels, NY to work on the Hobart truck farm. I can't recall the exact sequence, but I remember that I was let out one day to pick potatoes with some kids over at Hobart's. I believe that I had forgotten to bring a note from home, but they let me go anyway, with the understanding I'd bring in the excuse the next day.

I only lasted one day. During that day I got an inkling of what constitutes slave labor! We were required to walk along, dragging a burlap bag into which we would toss the loose potatoes. It was back-breaking work and the bags got heavier and heavier. When a bag was full, it was left for someone else to pick up. I remember doing about sixteen bags that day, for which I was paid the princely sum of eighty cents (a nickel a bag.) My body ached and school suddenly didn't seem quite so bad.

But I still had the obligation of bringing in a note from Ma. She wrote one for me, and I brought it to the office at the school. The secretary glanced at it and to my surprise, ushered me into the office of school superintendent H.V. Littell (known to one and all as "Prof. Littell." I didn't realize it as a kid, but his age was catching up with him. He glanced at the note from Ma and pulled a sheet of paper out of a drawer and wrote a brief note, which he folded and handed to me.

I couldn't imagine what he had written, but I thanked him and walked out of the office with the folded note in my hand. Once out, I raced to the boys' room to examine its contents. I was dumbfounded when I read it! Prof Littell had written: "Philip Klein is excused from attending school for one week to pick potatoes."

This was truly staggering information. It meant that I could legitimately stay away from school for a full week! I had no intention of picking any potatoes! I could do anything I wanted and no one would miss me at the school. I could leave home in the morning, and be as free as a bird...for a full week!

But my euphoria was short-lived. As I contemplated the coming week of freedom, I began to wonder how I could spend this wonderful free time. The more I thought about it, the worse it got. Saranac Lake is a small town. Where would I go? I couldn't hang around downtown; everybody knew everybody! How could I explain why I wasn't in school? I couldn't say I was off to pick potatoes when I was just hanging around...what to do?

I decided I'd have to get out of town...to hit the road. I, even as a boy, had done much hitchhiking. Back in those days, hitchhiking was an accepted means of transportation. Nobody really worried about the possibility of being robbed, or hit on the head, molested, or any of that stuff. Once in a while you might get picked up by somebody who was pretty drunk, or driving like a maniac...or both. In those cases, I always remembered that I had an aunt in the next town, and I really should stop in and say "hello."

But there was another factor. Most of the time, I would hitchhike with a pal. l It was nice to have company, and you could talk about a lot of things - like girls - while you were waiting to be picked up.

In this case, I would have no company. I would set off for places such as Lake Placid, Tupper Lake or even Malone. But then, what the hell would I do when I got there?

Well, it got even worse than I had imagined! I got so paranoid that I imagined that every approaching car might be someone I knew or - God forbid - even the truant officer, Stu Parks! My imagination intensified my fear; I even took to hiding in ditches and culverts.

To sum up, my five days of liberty were wretched. When the weekend at last arrived, I felt relief that was nearly heavenly!

And you know what? I could hardly wait to get back to school on Monday. Nobody had known anything; life had gone on and I was safe once more in the arms of my now not-so-bad, boring routine.