A Speech to Remember by King Deets

Spring, I think; balmy. After lunch, I think. It was going to be difficult to keep my eyes open, but then Mr. Van Delinder wasn’t much into discipline like I heard the nuns were down at the Catholic School. Rulers, straps, things like that.

Phil’s turn to give a speech. Phil was our star quarterback, wrestler, and pitcher for good ol’ BHS. Quiet. A bit rebellious, but then weren’t we all? A good friend.

“Mr. Tucker,” Mr. Van Delinder said calling Phil up.

Phil slid out of his seat, walked slowly, trying to be the jock that he was. He tried not to look nervous, but I knew he was. We all were. Standing up in front of a class full of peers, we tried not to embarrass ourselves too badly. After all, this was the first speech we had ever given in our short lives.

“I figured I’d start this talk off with a bang,” Phil said.

He was going to tell a joke? That was the school solution. Get everyone’s attention. Draw some sympathy from the audience, as if any were needed. Phil was no joke teller. Not like Delap. Now Delap, he could tell jokes. No, it would be a mistake for Phil to try to tell a joke. Not his thing. I prepared to groan.

But Phil didn’t tell a joke. No. He reached in one pocket and took out a stick match. You remember, those matches that you’d strike against any rough surface, even a pair of tight Levi’s, and they’d light by themselves. They’re banned now. Too dangerous or something. Can’t buy anything but safety matches anywhere now days.

Next Phil reached his hand in his other pocket, a struggle, my how those Levi’s were tight. I was up front; well, one or two seats back from the front, alphabetical seating, remember? Dau, Deets, Deevers. I was in the “D” row. I couldn’t make out exactly what I was looking at, but I had a bad feeling.

Phil struck the match put the match to...a fuse. A hiss. Phil dropped a smoking missle on the classroom floor. “Bo-Wah-Wee!” And out in the empty hall, the echoes. “Wahwee, wahwee, wahwee.” Then, silence. After the shock, no one spoke a word, Mr. Van Delinder dashed into the hall. Not like today. No armed guards roaming the hallways. And what do you know? Not a soul opened a classroom door. No principal marching toward our classroom to see what the ruckus was about. We all knew that if Mr. Popenheimer did show up, Van Delinder’s contract for next year was up for discussion.

Mr. Van Delinder looked one more time, left, right and closed the door. A short admonishment about how Phil’s opening was very original, but perhaps it would be best if those of us yet to give our talks would find another way of opening our speeches. Once was enough.

I don’t remember what Phil’s speech was about, only the opening. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember my own talk or any of the other student’s either. Just Phil’s opening.

At the 50th class reunion, when we were asked to recall events from the past, Judy Richards recalled Phil’s opener, except she said it was me that did it. I quickly denied it, believing credit is due those who earn it. Phil was sitting at Judy’s table too, right next to her. So when I put the responsibility where it was due, Phil just sat there, smiled and, I could tell, quietly snickering to himself. He knew.

King Deets