Don Edrington's Home Page     Shy Guy from Hollywood High     Brief Bio

Chapter 6   (1) (2) (3) 

"Drop out? You must be crazy!"

This was the reaction I got when I told my friends I was thinking of quitting school. They were right, of course, but I was restless that spring of 1946.

I'd found a job at the Ralph's Market near the one-room apartment I shared with my mom—and they'd told me if I'd quit school I could work full time.

I knew I wanted to be an artist or a cartoonist of some kind, and it didn't seem like acquiring more formal education was really necessary to achieve this. And I was sure I needed the money more than I needed any additional schooling.

Besides, I'd always had some very strong feelings about "homework" (that the schools, strangely enough, didn't agree with). I felt you shouldn't have to do any.

Homework?   No Way!

I mean, they had you there six hours a day, five days a week. Shouldn't that be enough time to teach you what you needed to know? I had more important things to do with my time.

I had Perry Mason novels to read, pictures to draw, songs and poems to write and magic tricks to practice. Besides all this I had a job. Where was I supposed to find time for homework?

 And somehow I managed to get passing grades—A's in English and Spanish—B's and C's in other things.
   

Once I even got an A in PE. I had Gym during last period, and one afternoon the coach announced that he had a heavy date after school, and that anybody who offered to stay and help him grade papers would get an A. (This was the only time I didn't get a C in PE.)

P E 4-F

PE was kind of a joke, anyway. I wasn't good at sports and I hated calisthenics.

For one thing, my mother had me convinced I had a weak heart and that I should avoid strenuous activity. Sometimes the coaches would buy this and make me "Ball Room Orderly"— but other times they'd give me a suspicious look and tell me to get out in the yard and stop goofing off.

My best friend Carl Von Papp was also a scrawny kid who wasn't good at sports—so when they chose up sides for teams we'd always be the last ones picked and would either end up on the bench or just milling around the field with some of the other misfits, trying to look busy.

Take football.

The coach would tell us all to get out on the field and practice our "scrimmaging." So there'd be a dozen or so guys on each team (the class divided by two) with five or six "stars" on each side. They'd be the ones who were actually running and passing and tackling—the rest us would try to look like we were doing something, but were really just trying to stay out of the way and keep from getting knocked down. We were also the ones who got yelled at if a ball-carrier got past everybody and scored a touchdown.

Carl had about the same attitude toward homework I did. Worse yet, he managed to just skim by with C's and D's. Math was even harder for him than it was for me (and it was my worst subject).

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If anybody had told me in 1946 that someday my friend Carl would end up teaching computer classes at Bellevue Community College I would have said he was crazy.

Computer? What the Heck is a Computer???

Of course, in 1946 nobody had ever heard of a computer, anyway. If the word had a definition in those days, it would have been, "one who computes."

Zelma Wanted to Sharpen My Pencil

As for girls - well, there was one. Zelma was a green-eyed strawberry blonde whom I couldn't help but notice in History class. Like myself, she seemed kind of shy and stayed mostly to herself. Although she wasn't what you'd call "glamour girl" beautiful she was quite pretty and had a very attractive figure — almost too attractive. She had this exceptionally well-developed bosom that was hard not to notice, even though she dressed rather conservatively.

One day Zelma stopped by my desk and asked if I needed any pencils sharpened. She explained that she was on her way to sharpen hers and thought she'd ask if I needed mine sharpened too. This took me completely by surprise and I didn't know quite what to say.

Well, I finally concluded that I didn't need any pencils sharpened — so I said, "No — but thank you, anyway." Then I spent the rest of the period trying to figure out if she was just teasing me, or really trying to be helpful. I finally decided she must be teasing.

But she did the same thing the following day.

Again, I didn't need any pencils sharpened, but, again, I thanked her — and became more confused than ever.

Well, when she stopped and asked again on the third day, I began to think maybe something was going on here. This time I actually smiled, and said, "No, but I'll probably need one sharpened tomorrow."

She smiled back and said, "Okay."

Sure enough, there she was the next day — right on schedule. This time I smiled and handed her two pencils with broken points. (I'd broken them on the way to class.) She smiled back, and returned in a few moments with my freshly sharpened Ticonderoga No. 2's.

This was beginning to look interesting, I thought. (I've always been a slow learner when it comes to certain things.)

Well, the pencil sharpening routine turned into a daily ritual, with each of us now taking turns asking about the other's sharpening needs. This was not lost on the other kids, who were starting to give us knowing looks and occasional winks. The teacher just seemed annoyed by what she perceived to be a lot of unnecessary trips to the pencil sharpener.

Well, the next obvious thing to do was ask Zelma for a date. But I'd never asked a girl out before, and wasn't quite sure where to begin.

Continued:   First Date — First Kiss?

Ch.1 Alameda - Los Angeles 1939-40   Ch.2 Echo Park 1943   Ch.3 Virgil Jr Hi 1944   Ch.4 Le Conte Jr Hi 1945-46   Ch.5 Gower Gulch 1946
Ch.6 Hollywood Hi 1946/47   Ch.7 Drop Out 1948   Ch 8 Norma Jean Salina 1948   Ch 9 Fort Ord 1949   Ch.10 Fort Belvoir 1950
Ch.11 Korea 1951   Ch.12 Back to Civilian Life 1952   Ch.13 Cornet Stores 1953   Ch.14 Puerto Rico 1955   Ch 15 Signs by George 1956
Ch 16 Mexico 1958   Ch.17 Fullerton 1960   Ch.18 Fallbrook 1973   Ch.19 Costa Mesa 2000