Paddling - Stories for my grandchildren

I came across a news item the other day that stated that paddling - the application of the board of education to the seat of learning - is still permissible in 19 states. Texas is in, California is out, so only half of my grands are directly affected by this knowledge. Not that my Texas grandchildren would ever... No, never.

The article itself dealt primarily with the growing consternation with the states and school systems that still permit this form of social justice and the growing opposition, as expressed in court cases and public outcry. That's all well and good, but where was all this concern and outrage when Coach Holditch walked the halls of Breckenridge High School, wielding the Mother of all Paddles?

To be sure, this form of punishment was around throughout my educational career. As I recall, some of my elementary school classmates got 'licks.' I know Mr Baker, the Junior High Principal, kept a paddle in his office, and occasionally used it. But it was Murray Holditch, football line coach, history teacher and Texas Aggie forever that we all feared.

Coach Holditch was actually a genial sort of guy, and it was fairly easy to steer him away from the topic of history or civics and get him started on his favorite subject - A&M. He was an Aggie through and through, and loved to talk about all things A&M, and oh, my, is that the bell already?

But he somehow became the Enforcer at Breckenridge High School; goodness knows the milquetoast Principal wasn't going to paddle anyone - it was within the realm of possibility that some of the bigger, rougher voc-ed students would think nothing of taking a paddle away from the Principal - but no one, no one would think of confronting Coach Holditch. So when little 4-foot nothing history teacher Nell Cates needed someone whupped, she sent them to Coach Holditch. And Coach took his job very, very seriously.

The instrument of attitudinal adjustment, in my mind's eye was at least 4 feet long, 4 inches wide, at least 1 inch thick, and drilled with holes. I suspect in reality the dimensions were much less, but the drilled holes (now universally banned, even in the 19 states) are fact. Coach Holditch's justice was usually just a single swat, unless you tried to anticipate the lick and jump, or as in the case of Tommy Pennington, you tried to pad your skinny butt with a book. Tommy didn't sit down when he came back to class.

So, did I ever have my corporeal punished? Yes. Once. I don't remember why, but I clearly remember that it was not justified. I was absolutely, totally innocent. Coach Holditch's response was to ask how many swats I wanted. I could name a number or he would. There is only one answer to that question, and one result.

But I swear I didn't do it. Whatever it was I did.