High school hooky caper revealed after 58 years

GARY GONSAR

Kishacoquillas High School Class

of 1965

Fifty-eight years ago, when I was part of the 1965 class at Kish, it was a different world. We did not have police offcers patrolling the halls, no camera in every corner and a pair of nail clippers was not considered a deadly weapon.

There were no automated calls about school cancellations in the winter. No, we did not walk fve miles to school uphill both ways in waist deep snow. But, in bad weather, often waiting 10 to 15 minutes past the scheduled arrival time of the bus, we could go home.

One day in the winter of 1965, the weather was bad. Everyone with a watch or sundial was counting down the seconds till blast off. Just as time ran out, the bus sounded the corner of Hill St. and Virginia Ave. Quickly, four or fve of us took off in the opposite direction of our planned escape route. That went fne, but now what do we do? We need a warm place out of the harsh elements and the dog house and tree house would not hide or hold all of us.

Most of us had mothers at home but Bob Swartzell’s parents both worked. We went to the perfect hiding place - Bob’s basement. We were warm, had cookies and a pool table. What more could we want? We could not be spotted by anyone.

It was a nice mid-winter break, thanks to mother nature and fast feet. As time wore on and the cookies ran out, we had to think about ending our ‘educational’ school day.

Bob was safe. His par- ents would not get home until after the bus, but John Knepp, Ritch Rankin, and I had to think of something. I don’t know what John did, but Ritch and I sneaked around out to old Rte. 322 where we stuck out our thumbs ( you don’t see that anymore. It’s called hitchhiking). Along came Sonny Bowersox in his 1933 Plymouth Coupe. He picked us up and took us to the school parking lot. We waited there till school let out and we blended into the crowd and boarded our bus.

I got off the bus in sight of Mom’s kitchen window and went into the house. Mom asked how my day was at school and I said “fne.” Then she said, “I know you weren’t in school.” I said, “You saw me get off the bus, did you not?” She said, “Yes, but Helen Bollinger (a neigh- bor snitch) saw a bunch of young boys taking off around the corner when the bus arrived this morning.”

I should have pleaded the ffth, but I told the truth - that my friend, Ritch Rankin, talked me into it. Before writing this article, I called Bob Swartzell to make sure I got my facts straight. Bob said he didn’t remember any of it and besides, he always liked school.

My friends John and Ritch are both gone now, so come on Bob. I’m not a lawyer, but I’m sure after 58 years, the statute of limitations for playing hooky has run out. But who knows. I still might get a three day suspension out of this.