2008 Woodie Awards
Want Some Discipline? Here's a Bucket Full!
Scott Sell
Issue date: 11/12/03 Section: Opinion
I struck up a conversation with a fellow while I was waiting in line for pasta in Stimson the other night and he brought up an interesting story. He told me about the fire extinguisher battle he had a few nights with a buddy of his. I walked away impressed with his intentions, but then found myself wondering where the authorities were during his mischief. If not Security, someone should have given him a knocking about the head.
This got me thinking about this all-male preparatory school I went to my freshman year of high school. It was one of those private places where everyone's name was Reed or Sebastian and they sold speed and porno in the bathrooms to the younger guys. God was involved quite a bit, whether you liked it or not, and Jesuit priests ran the show, many with solid drinking problems. Being an entirely dude student body, being able to smell/cuss/be offensive was the rule, not the exception. I've forgotten the reasons why I liked it there (which could be why I only stayed a year), and can only remember bits and pieces of what actually went on while I was there. But I do remember Mr. John Sarocco, the Headmaster. Sarocco was everything you feared in authority, and then some. He was a sixty-year-old ex-Marine, still totally fit and always red in the face from being angry at something or someone (usually the latter).. His only detriment was that he was starting to go bald which I'm sure pissed him off all the more. He had these little beady eyes that bore into your soul and a mustache that was clipped akin to Adolf. His shirt was always starched and pressed and his tie was centered just so, as if fastened back with a safety pin.
He would sit in his office in the morning, reaming out fellows for being a minute or two late to class. The rest of the day, he would walk the beat, looking for guys who were missing their ties or smoking cigarettes. When he did find them...man, you wanted to be somewhere else. I've never seen a human being explode like he did.
This got me thinking about this all-male preparatory school I went to my freshman year of high school. It was one of those private places where everyone's name was Reed or Sebastian and they sold speed and porno in the bathrooms to the younger guys. God was involved quite a bit, whether you liked it or not, and Jesuit priests ran the show, many with solid drinking problems. Being an entirely dude student body, being able to smell/cuss/be offensive was the rule, not the exception. I've forgotten the reasons why I liked it there (which could be why I only stayed a year), and can only remember bits and pieces of what actually went on while I was there. But I do remember Mr. John Sarocco, the Headmaster. Sarocco was everything you feared in authority, and then some. He was a sixty-year-old ex-Marine, still totally fit and always red in the face from being angry at something or someone (usually the latter).. His only detriment was that he was starting to go bald which I'm sure pissed him off all the more. He had these little beady eyes that bore into your soul and a mustache that was clipped akin to Adolf. His shirt was always starched and pressed and his tie was centered just so, as if fastened back with a safety pin.
He would sit in his office in the morning, reaming out fellows for being a minute or two late to class. The rest of the day, he would walk the beat, looking for guys who were missing their ties or smoking cigarettes. When he did find them...man, you wanted to be somewhere else. I've never seen a human being explode like he did.
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