DeFelice & Graves

by Zaslow Crane

            I see a lot of strife in our world today, especially locally and, I think I might understand the cause. Everything today is so much in flux, folks don’t understand their role; their responsibility; their place, or spot in this world. It’s not at all like when I was in High School…

            At my High School, there was a tandem of “Health Instructors” working as I passed through. There was Mr. DeFelice, and Mr. Graves.

            They were a sort of tag team. Mr. DeFelice was a meticulous little man and functioned as the lead driving instructor. During a key lecture, his “modus operandi” would entail speaking in a normal and clear voice until he arrived at the critical passage of his lesson. Then, he would raise a finger and his eyes would sparkle as he’d whisper the key word! We’d all lean forward  trying to figure out what in the heck the guy was saying! One of my classmates actually fell out of his chair and sprained a wrist!

            In addition, he would take us out driving (all of us, 16 or17 years old and lacking any real driving experience- or common sense). Mr. DeFelice was a brave man!

            He kept a ratty, old two foot piece of broomstick. At the end, there was a #16 nail bent at a 90 degree angle. He had no problem with us listening to the radio while we drove, but occasionally he would object to a particular song. Did I mention that the radio in these donated cars was on the left of the driving console?

            So, if Mr. DeDeFelice objected to a tune he had to reach through the driver’s wheel with the dowel and the bent nail and “pop!” another button on the radio!

            It’s a wonder I didn’t crash into a busload of nuns and explode in a fiery conflagration a half dozen times!

            Then, there was Mr. Graves. He always looked like an unmade bed. He had once referred to his wife, so I know at least that he was married. That was a bit of a surprise to all of his oh so sophisticated teengers. One day, I tried all afternoon to picture him in a tux on his wedding day. It wasn’t easy! I finally figured he went for “plaid”…

            All those who argue  for the “intelligent design” theory of evolution have yet to meet a “Mr. Graves”. He must have weighed at least 250, and all that weight was perched upon two spindly, hairless, alabaster legs! And so, anyone who thinks that there was/is intelligent design behind a 250-plus pound man, who had small, very small feet and skinny legs, needs to have their meds updated!

            Think about it: All that weight- “perched” precariously upon two knees that are of dubious design at best, and two ankles which are ‘way under engineered for the job at hand.

            Then consider the feet. If size 13 or 14 was say, a “small” size, then I’d say that there was evidence of some sort of intelligent design evident here on earth, but in a world where size thirteen is still considered “large”, a  considerably smaller foot is simply not practical. Intelligent design? – More like design by committee, using spare parts!

            Mr. Grave’s main role in the realm of Health Ed was brutal “P.E.”. However, he really shined at one particular time of year: when he got to be the “lifesaving” class teacher. He would relish the end of the semester when we had to “save” him in order to earn our lifesaving badges.

            His “technique” was to dive to the bottom of the deep end of the pool, and wait there for us to “rescue” him. He would struggle and fight trying his best to drown us! Our task was to wrest the initiative from him, spin him around in order to drag him up to the surface!

            I’m proud to say that I out- maneuvered the wily underwater manatee and, in fact, did save Mr. Graves, earning my lifesaving badge.

            The very next year, they made it legal to punch the victim – presumably to shock him/her so you could get control of the situation.

            After years of sadistic dodge ball and merciless rope climbing, the mere fact that one could in essence, “legally” “pop” Mr. Graves underwater- once (or twice?! –after all it would be your word against his!) was earth shaking to our world!

            Everyone had had “dealings” with Mr. Graves at one time or another; everyone knew his reputation; everyone recalled welts and rope burns they’d acquired as he shouted abuse. The word spread through the male population of the school like wildfire.

            The lifesaving class suddenly was the most popular class among boys’ in years! It  overbooked until well into the next year!

            Mr. Graves decided (wisely) that it was a good time to hang up his goggles and fins.

            After classes, in the evenings, Mr. DeFelice would also mange the swim team. He would direct us to swim 4 miles to- “warm up” while he casually read a magazine.

            So, late one winter evening, the entire swim team got tired of his “warm ups”.       

We took his VW bus, and carefully turned it upside down on the grass median of the high school’s parking lot. It looked like a dead turtle sitting there on the grass, on it’s roof…

            We learned OUR place in the world after that.

            Just to be clear,  “our place” was in detention – for months… But it was worth it!

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