Bored on a Sunday after Church we're innocently checking to see if any windows are open at the school we'll attend on Monday.
We're suave six graders ... we know everything.
Low and behold, one window's not locked, we shimmy inside and have the whole school to ourselves without Mr. Eiler or one single teacher to tell us "No."
After the initial rush of "HEY MAN! LOOK WHAT WE DID!" we wonder what to do next.
I'm uncertain who had the idea, though I clearly remember it wasn't me, but we take the American Flag from every single classroom and the lunchroom/auditorium so no one can say the "Pledge of Allegiance" after "The Lord's Prayer" thereby suspending school from happening on Monday.
It's the middle 1960s and American Flags are hot commodities because people are burning them in protest of the Vietnam War, wearing them, using them for album covers (a'la Jefferson Airplane) and using them for blankets at rock festivals.
Monday morning at school's a riot when Mr. Eiler lead us through "The Lord's Prayer" and calls for students to face the flag with our hands over our hearts.
I don't remember if Gene Prevatt or Robert Mixon laughed first but it was one of them as a couple of hundred 1-6 graders turn in circles with hands over their chests looking for something to salute.
It's Wednesday before the cops knock on Robert Mixon's door and find his room decorated with American Flags ... he gave one to his brother and sold the rest for $5 a pop ... big money in the 1960s.
Robert Mixon immediately confesses that Gene Prevatt and I made him do it with wild threats to beat him up if he didn't comply ... he was in fear for his life or otherwise wouldn't have been part of such a blatant disregard of love of country.
Gene Prevatt is questioned in his room with his mother looking on and calmly replies, "I was here the whole time studying my Sunday School lesson and practicing my sword drill ... shaved two seconds off Proverbs."
At my house, Dad says, "Of course he did it."
So when Monty Parks sends a text asking if I'm on island, I immediately respond to my friend asking "Why?"
"I'm in the ditch down from your house," he replies.
Now Monty Parks is both a musician and an elected official ... the man has serious issues ... I figure he's in bad trouble, wrecked his truck in the ditch speeding to a committee meeting and is drowning as the tide's coming in because he has a history of almost drowning ... both on his boat looking for Shark teeth and politically.
Doing what any good friend does I say, "Shit!" and drive half a block because it's too hot to walk.
Monty Parks is fine.
He's surrounded by good looking women sweating and cleaning trash from the ditch cause ... God knows ... good public servants like trashy sweaty women.
"Look at this," he says when I stop in the middle of the street blocking traffic, roll down the window to stay cool and shake my head because it's a false alarm.
Monty holds up an American Flag still on the pole someone threw in the ditch.
"It was Robert Mixon," I immediately confess.
"What?" he asks.
"Could have been Gene Prevatt," I nod getting out the car, further blocking traffic.
"Can you believe this?" Monty Parks says holding the mud caked American Flag.
"Bastards," I say snapping his picture.
That's it.
Vote for Monty if you're going to vote.
And if you need a flag I bet Robert Mixon still has a couple.
