THE DAM BREAKS part 2, chapter 73

The school year of 1964-65 was a personally defining leadership time. I changed dramatically in unexpected ways. While I had been freshman class president, and worked on various creative and planning committees, I did what I did because it was fun. I wasn’t always in charge. Even when I had that title I was more of a facilitator, than a leader. I love the idea of teamwork.

Many have regrets regarding that school year. I am one of them. I became angry, violate and explosive and it was highly directed. I was able to temper it at times but it seemed to simmer under my skin. It would not go away.

It was early in January of the second semester when the dam broke for me. It cracked and spewed muck in December. Several students were placed in room arrest (my term, not theirs – if ankle bracelets had been invented I’m sure they would had wore them). I saw the issue as a problem, felt it and tried to stick my finger in the hole to plug it but it was too little too late and I felt like I was the wrong person in the wrong place. I had no authority and no power.

The school had a scheduled hockey game with Carenport Bible College near Moosejaw, Saskatchewan, and the student council had arranged rides to the game at their campus. The normal pattern for this was to find drivers willing to fill their car, post their names and the number they could take and then let people sign up for a ride. Student Council would then pay the drivers gas money. This plan worked as designed.

We all had a great time. It was nice to get off campus as a group and just laugh and cheer. No doubt it was an important game. Carenport was our chief rival. Maybe we won. I don’t know. 

When we returned from the game, a large number of students had deportment slips in their mailboxes. I was one of the later cars to return and was under attack before I walked in the door. “Why did I get a deportment slip?” How was I to know? I couldn’t see through walls, nor mentally transport from city to city. “What did the note say?” Leaving campus without signing out. Each dorm had a book at one exit in which students were required to write their departure day, time and destination, then the time they returned. Several students followed that rule diligently apparently most did not.

I checked my box and as suspected also had one. It was my first deportment of the year and a mistake I did not want to make then or ever, but I had. I knew we were under law. I knew I had gone to the game without signing the exit book. Claiming it was an accident or that signing the transportation sheets was tantamount to signing out did not matter under the law. I messed up and accepted that as my fault. But some of the people who got notices had not left campus and didn’t know why. Neither did I, but for some reason some believed I should have the answer. I had no idea on what basis notices were given. I listened to those complains all weekend. It felt like my only escape from the talk was church. It is the first time in my life I wished church lasted all day.

. On Monday morning I walked over to pick up the signup sheets for the trip to the Carenport hockey game we had posted on a bulletin board in the Administration building. They were not there, No problem, Ron was the Student Council treasurer. It was his job and I assumed he had the sheets. I asked him about them when I saw him later that day. “No, I thought you picked them up.” “No!” We stood together trying to figure out where the sheets went. The same light bulb idea flashed over our heads at the same time. Most likely the dean took the signup sheets and used them to compare to dorm sign out books so demerit slips could be written. As students often did, some who asked for rides did not go. Others went who were not on the lists. The whole deportment list was arbitrarily based and caught only a few of the actual offenders all of whose names appeared on the ride lists already. It also caught a few non-offenders.

I was furious at the thought that someone in administrative authority has used the ride signup sheets to hand out deportments. In my somewhat less legalistic eyes those sheets might have been viewed as signing out. But instead they became proof that people left without signing out. Right or wrong, I could not believe they could have stooped so low. It felt more like “now I got you,” a sneaky little trick.

Having assumed the scenario we suspected was correct. I was so angry I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. I decided he had no right to take those signup sheets when they rightfully belonged to the Student Council. If he did have the right, why did he not consult with Ron or myself? We put them up, not him. A note would have worked.

There is no question my attitude was wrong. I had had it up to here (hand way above head) with what several students considered to be downright dirty tactics.  I had listened to their concerns and frustrations since September and done nothing but get worn out by their words. The room arrest wore heavily on the incarcerated and several other students. Their behavior was being watched closely and secret Gestapo assistants (other students) were reporting every possible infraction to the authorities. Apparently someone believed this was the responsible Christian thing to do. Some felt those student’s actions were unforgiveable, and even a lynching might not be too sever (joking).

Something had to be done. I did not see anyone stepping up to the plate. All anyone did was complain behind the backs of offenders and authorities or say we were under authority. I wanted to know what the right response was if authority was wrong. A large number seemed to believe authority could not be wrong. I never once saw myself as the champion of anyone’s cause. I had never stood up to any perceived wrong in my life. I kept my mouth shut and turned my back and slinked away with my tail between my legs. Someone had to do something and the powers that be were silent.

Emboldened by anger, I walked over the Deans office and pounded on the door with the back of my hand. I wanted answers.