Fifth Grade, Bobby Kennedy and Sam Vaughn
Senator Robert Francis Kennedy died at 1:44 AM on June 6, 1968 after being shot by Sirhan Sirhan the previous early morning. I mention it here because this event resulted indirectly in a traumatic event for me later that day. Be patient, as it will take me a minute to get to that. The names in this story have NOT been changed to protect the innocent.
I was in Miss Lum’s fifth grade class at Whitmore Elementary School in my hometown of Ceres, CA at that time. Some of my classmates included Ron Megee, Debbie Rayford, Dave Stiffler, Eddie Morrow, Rita Woodral, Tim Crownover, Debbie Fabela, Robbie Spears, Jonni Dunnegan, Nick Chipponeri and Mark Lowe.
During lunchtime, the school allowed kids to go home to eat but we weren’t supposed to go anywhere else. Being the adventurous and unbridled boys that we were, some of us would go instead to Ceres Billiards to shoot pool and play pinball. On one of these days, not the day recounted above, a few of us – Eddie, Dave and Tim went to the pool hall for our usual routine. The pinball repairman was there working on some of his machines. When it was time to hightail it back to school, we went out the backdoor into the alley. One of us noticed the pinball guy’s truck parked there which had a carton of Camel cigarettes sitting on the dash. Eddie, who smoked on occasion, dared me to take the carton. Being the tough and unafraid junior thug I was at the time I reached inside the unlocked truck and grabbed it. We were all very surprised to find no packs of Camels. Instead, it was full of quarters, dimes and nickels. I do not recall exactly how much money was there, but it was more than $30.00. I am ashamed to say that we gave no thought to not taking the money. As the one who took the risk of snaring the loot and having it in my possession at the moment, I decreed that the other three guys could split half of it because I was going to take half for myself. They reluctantly agreed and we divvied up the take.
On the day Bobby Kennedy died, just the week prior to the end of the school year, our teacher, Miss Lum, brought a TV into the classroom so we could all watch the news. Everyone was gathered around the set and several of the girls were crying. Not being one for current events and probably not even knowing who Robert Kennedy was, I went into the cloak room. Whitmore School was built in the early 1900’s and each of its classrooms had a separate room where the kids were to hang up there coats and scarves, and leave their galoshes. I was joined by Robbie Spears and we whiled away the time, waitng for the lunch period. We cracked some jokes, shot the breeze and did the trick whereby one person “pulls a spider web” from the other’s hand. If you’re too young to know about this, ask someone over 50.
At lunchtime, I decided to go to the pool hall. No one wanted to go along so I rode my bike the three blocks there and played some pinball. As I rode back onto the school grounds, I saw what can only be described as an angry mob awaiting my return. There were about a dozen of them and standing in front was Debbie Fabela. She was visibly angry. Her pulled back curly black hair and her serious overbite contributed to her look of hate and visiuosness. I parked my bike in the rack and walked toward them wondering what was going on. Next thing I know, I’ve been jumped on, knocked down and was being kicked by them with Debbie especially delivering several side busters to my ribs. Finally, some teachers rescued me. I was taken to see the school Principal, Mr. Sam Vaughn.
Later, I learned why I had been jumped and beaten. While I was gone to Ceres Billiards, Robbie Spears told all the kids in our class that I had been laughing at Debbie Fabela who had been one of the girls crying about Senator Kennedy’s passing. This was patently untrue because I am not one to laugh at crying girls. And if I had laughed about any crying, Debbie Fabela was not one I would have done this toward. She was tough and not a little intimidating. She was the first girl I can recall using the “f” word. Robbie was a troublemaker who took delight in causing problems. His older brother was rumored to be a gang member who got into fights every weekend in Modesto behind the Covell Theater. His gang reportedly battled others with knives, chains and broken bottles. Robbie aspired to be just like his big brother and he had a mean streak. On that day, I was a victim of his cruel humor.
To add insult to injury, my journey to the Principal’s office was not for the purpose of protecting me. While I was there, I was told I was in trouble for going off campus to an unauthorized location. This came to Mr. Vaughn’s attention as a result of my undeserved beating which should have been punishment enough. However, Mr.Vaughn gave me two swats with his spanking paddle for my transgression. Now, whenever the name “Kennedy” is mentioned, I recall that fateful day in June 1968.
As a postscript I offer this: Miss Lum, a sweet little Chinese woman was well out of her league with her group of fifth grade students that year. It has been a topic of discussion among those of us who have remained in contact since then that that year was probably Miss Lum’s rookie season as a teacher. She meant well and she tried hard to teach us what the curriculum called for, but we were adept at getting her to go off topic and discuss other things such as drugs (remember, we were children of the 60’s), TV shows and cuss words (we taught them to her).
Apparently, the school authorities decided she was not cut out to be a teacher at Whitmore Elementary. This would have been all well and good had it not been for the poor decision about when and how she was informed of her termination. On the last day of school, Miss Lum was summoned to the office at the lunch break and told her services would no longer be required. After lunch, a group of fifth graders returned to the class room to find our beloved Miss Lum sitting at her desk, sobbing. We were shocked, sad and angered. To this day, I cannot understand why Mr. Vaughn handled this situation in that manner. It was one of the saddest days of my life up to that point.
After school, several of us (Ron Megee, Tim Crownover, Dave Stiffler, Mark Lowe and Eddie Morrow) exacted revenge on Mr. Vaughn. Now, Ron may dispute he was one of the culprits that day and both Tim and Mark are no longer with us to defend themselves, but I strongly believe my recollection is accurate. At any rate, Eddie had one of those “Hi, My Name is:” name tags that adhere to one’s shirt front. Dave drew a picture on it of a hand flipping a bird. I believe the “f” word was also written on it to let Vaughn know the level of our fury. The name tag was placed on the windshield of his VW bus and we threw a dozen or so water balloons into the open windows. I admit that this vengeful act was especially sweet for me because of the swats I had received from Mr. Vaughn just the week before.
I was in Miss Lum’s fifth grade class at Whitmore Elementary School in my hometown of Ceres, CA at that time. Some of my classmates included Ron Megee, Debbie Rayford, Dave Stiffler, Eddie Morrow, Rita Woodral, Tim Crownover, Debbie Fabela, Robbie Spears, Jonni Dunnegan, Nick Chipponeri and Mark Lowe.
During lunchtime, the school allowed kids to go home to eat but we weren’t supposed to go anywhere else. Being the adventurous and unbridled boys that we were, some of us would go instead to Ceres Billiards to shoot pool and play pinball. On one of these days, not the day recounted above, a few of us – Eddie, Dave and Tim went to the pool hall for our usual routine. The pinball repairman was there working on some of his machines. When it was time to hightail it back to school, we went out the backdoor into the alley. One of us noticed the pinball guy’s truck parked there which had a carton of Camel cigarettes sitting on the dash. Eddie, who smoked on occasion, dared me to take the carton. Being the tough and unafraid junior thug I was at the time I reached inside the unlocked truck and grabbed it. We were all very surprised to find no packs of Camels. Instead, it was full of quarters, dimes and nickels. I do not recall exactly how much money was there, but it was more than $30.00. I am ashamed to say that we gave no thought to not taking the money. As the one who took the risk of snaring the loot and having it in my possession at the moment, I decreed that the other three guys could split half of it because I was going to take half for myself. They reluctantly agreed and we divvied up the take.
On the day Bobby Kennedy died, just the week prior to the end of the school year, our teacher, Miss Lum, brought a TV into the classroom so we could all watch the news. Everyone was gathered around the set and several of the girls were crying. Not being one for current events and probably not even knowing who Robert Kennedy was, I went into the cloak room. Whitmore School was built in the early 1900’s and each of its classrooms had a separate room where the kids were to hang up there coats and scarves, and leave their galoshes. I was joined by Robbie Spears and we whiled away the time, waitng for the lunch period. We cracked some jokes, shot the breeze and did the trick whereby one person “pulls a spider web” from the other’s hand. If you’re too young to know about this, ask someone over 50.
At lunchtime, I decided to go to the pool hall. No one wanted to go along so I rode my bike the three blocks there and played some pinball. As I rode back onto the school grounds, I saw what can only be described as an angry mob awaiting my return. There were about a dozen of them and standing in front was Debbie Fabela. She was visibly angry. Her pulled back curly black hair and her serious overbite contributed to her look of hate and visiuosness. I parked my bike in the rack and walked toward them wondering what was going on. Next thing I know, I’ve been jumped on, knocked down and was being kicked by them with Debbie especially delivering several side busters to my ribs. Finally, some teachers rescued me. I was taken to see the school Principal, Mr. Sam Vaughn.
Later, I learned why I had been jumped and beaten. While I was gone to Ceres Billiards, Robbie Spears told all the kids in our class that I had been laughing at Debbie Fabela who had been one of the girls crying about Senator Kennedy’s passing. This was patently untrue because I am not one to laugh at crying girls. And if I had laughed about any crying, Debbie Fabela was not one I would have done this toward. She was tough and not a little intimidating. She was the first girl I can recall using the “f” word. Robbie was a troublemaker who took delight in causing problems. His older brother was rumored to be a gang member who got into fights every weekend in Modesto behind the Covell Theater. His gang reportedly battled others with knives, chains and broken bottles. Robbie aspired to be just like his big brother and he had a mean streak. On that day, I was a victim of his cruel humor.
To add insult to injury, my journey to the Principal’s office was not for the purpose of protecting me. While I was there, I was told I was in trouble for going off campus to an unauthorized location. This came to Mr. Vaughn’s attention as a result of my undeserved beating which should have been punishment enough. However, Mr.Vaughn gave me two swats with his spanking paddle for my transgression. Now, whenever the name “Kennedy” is mentioned, I recall that fateful day in June 1968.
As a postscript I offer this: Miss Lum, a sweet little Chinese woman was well out of her league with her group of fifth grade students that year. It has been a topic of discussion among those of us who have remained in contact since then that that year was probably Miss Lum’s rookie season as a teacher. She meant well and she tried hard to teach us what the curriculum called for, but we were adept at getting her to go off topic and discuss other things such as drugs (remember, we were children of the 60’s), TV shows and cuss words (we taught them to her).
Apparently, the school authorities decided she was not cut out to be a teacher at Whitmore Elementary. This would have been all well and good had it not been for the poor decision about when and how she was informed of her termination. On the last day of school, Miss Lum was summoned to the office at the lunch break and told her services would no longer be required. After lunch, a group of fifth graders returned to the class room to find our beloved Miss Lum sitting at her desk, sobbing. We were shocked, sad and angered. To this day, I cannot understand why Mr. Vaughn handled this situation in that manner. It was one of the saddest days of my life up to that point.
After school, several of us (Ron Megee, Tim Crownover, Dave Stiffler, Mark Lowe and Eddie Morrow) exacted revenge on Mr. Vaughn. Now, Ron may dispute he was one of the culprits that day and both Tim and Mark are no longer with us to defend themselves, but I strongly believe my recollection is accurate. At any rate, Eddie had one of those “Hi, My Name is:” name tags that adhere to one’s shirt front. Dave drew a picture on it of a hand flipping a bird. I believe the “f” word was also written on it to let Vaughn know the level of our fury. The name tag was placed on the windshield of his VW bus and we threw a dozen or so water balloons into the open windows. I admit that this vengeful act was especially sweet for me because of the swats I had received from Mr. Vaughn just the week before.
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