THE VICTORY BELL The Liberty Bell, the school bell, and the door bell. Bells have been a part of mans history that we sometimes choose to ignore. I remember two bells that were etched into my memory and cannot be forgotten if I really tried. I grew up on a row-crop farm south of a small Arkansas town called Dell. This was during the latter part of WWII. Times were difficult and work was the word of the day. We all toiled in the cotton fields in gumbo ground, or new ground, as it was called back then. I was eight years old and was expected to pull my load as the rest of my siblings. We had an old John Deere tractor and four teams of mules with which we used to cultivate the cotton. My step-dad, after harnessing up a team, would put me on a row. My instructions were to watch the plows. Make sure you dont plow up any of the cotton. The mules knew exactly what their part in this drama was, go down the row, turn at the end and head back up the other row. I did not need to say or do anything that would change their behavior. Just watch the plows. The key to all of this activity was the dinner bell located at the homestead. When my mom rang that bell to signal noon break it could be heard from over a mile. I immediately hung the plows on the hooks provided and jumped on the tongue of the carriage. The muless ears came up and, at a trot, headed for the barn on their own volition. Today, that would be labeled child abuse. But, to me, there was no abuse involved. I loved every minute of that encounter with the mules and that feeling of being grown up just like my older brothers. The second bell etched in my memory was the Victory Bell at Herculaneum High School. The bell sat just outside the main entrance to the high school. Instructions in the student handbook were explicit, This bell is only to be rung by members of a varsity winning team from Herculaneum High School. The number of rings always equaled the margin of victory. This was sacred. No exceptions. No one violated this. This rule did not come from the administration nor the coaches; it came from the ethos and lore of all students at Herky High, past present and future. It was part of the fabric of being a Herky Blackcat, a proud tradition that goes back many years and is burned in the memory of every graduate. I was introduced into the culture of the victory bell my first year as assistant principal and athletic director at Herculaneum. It was burned into my brain early on that it was part of my responsibility to see that the rules regarding the bell were followed. Not because I said so but because the students said so. The situation, I am about to relate, occurred in the late seventies. The seniors were at school on a Thursday morning for their last practice before graduation that night. I was in the small filing cabinet room with a window open to the seniors milling around the entrance to the gymnasium. Suddenly, I heard the Victory Bell ring, not once but twice. Quickly looking out the window, I saw the student who had rung the bell. His hands were still on the chained clapper. He looked up at me and froze in his tracks. He was busted. Never had this happened in my tenure at this high school. What do I do now? It was graduation night and there was no way I would keep him from walking down that aisle and across the stage. He and I talked in my office a few minutes and settled on his writing a theme about the tradition of the bell and what it meant to all at Herculaneum High School. The theme was to be in my hands one hour before graduation. Sitting at my desk the next morning I picked up the paper he had turned in the prior evening. I began reading and the more I read the more I became choked up; a mist forming in my eyes. I looked around to make sure no one was watching me. Using broken English, a few mis-spelled words, and very little punctuation that young man captured the true meaning of that bell much better than I ever could have done Oh, he knew the tradition and the reasons spelled out in the student handbook very well. But then from his heart and soul he penned a narrative that touched me to the core of my being. From my freshman to senior years I went out for football, basketball and track. I dont think you would label me a star player. I loved being with my team mates and practices, most of the time, were fun. When we won, and the team went to the bell to ring it, I was never able to get my hands on the bell. In four years I never got my victory Mr. C, I just had to ring that bell one time even if it meant I wouldnt walk the stage. Now, folks, you look me in the eye and tell me that wouldnt bring tears. He added two other points that made a lot of sense: The chain holding the clapper should have been thoroughly secured. Hence, no ring would have occurred. No ring. no foul, no theme. His last sentence was poetic, I dont know if writing a theme seemed right, either. He was right on both counts. Over that summer, I talked with coaches and other administrators to help solve this situation. They all agreed that every team participant should get a chance to ring the Victory Bell and I hope that is one tradition that is still in place. I am a BLACKCAT for ever.
Posted on: Tue, 11 Nov 2014 03:35:03 +0000
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