In 1986 I Won Tickets to see Space Camp..

...and drew the wrath of the meanest teacher in school by doing so.

40 years ago this month, I won tickets to see the movie Space Camp by telling a joke on the radio and giving my social studies teacher the Royal Flush.

In the summer of 1986, I had just completed 7th grade. My hometown, a suburb of Oklahoma City, had six elementary schools. Beginning in seventh grade, the kids from all six of those schools were funneled inton one single school: Independence Middle School. Suddenly we had lockers, and home rooms, and lots of new faces. In sixth grade I sat in the same classroom all day with the same teacher and the same couple dozen kids. In seventh grade we had six different classes in six different rooms with six different teachers.

I had a lot of great teachers and a lot of great memories from seventh grade, but there was one teacher whom student sand maybe even the faculty feared. You’ll find out her name later, but for now let’s just call her Mrs. W.

Mrs. W. taught social studies and was known for two things. First, she was in a wheelchair. I don’t know what happened to land her in a wheelchair, but whatever it was she seemed to take it out on her students. The other thing she was known for was her system of “discipline marks.” On her desk sat a small box full of index cards, one for every student. Anything you did that went against er classroom rules would earn you a discipline mark. Get caught whispering to a classmate? Discipline mark. Accidentally allow your pencil to roll down your sloped desktop? Discipline mark. Ask to go to the restroom before raising your hand? Discipline mark. I’ve long forgotten what the punishments were, but they weren’t good. I remember seeing kids get paddled in front of the class for earning one too many discipline marks.

For the most part I laid low in Mrs. W.’s class, but there was one incident that put me on thin ice. I don’t remember how on earth this topic came up in class, but somehow we ended up talking about something gross girls did and Mrs. W. said there was something even more gross that boys did. She then whispered something to one of the girls in the front row, who howled with laughter. All the girls began sharing whatever had been said with all the boys begging to be let in on the joke. No one would tell us until after class — she had said “scratching their balls.” When we got to sixth hour we told our much cooler teacher, Mrs. Henley, what had happened. Mrs. Henley thought it would be hilarious if the three of us went back into Mrs. W.’s classroom and interrupted her class by scratching our balls. We thought it was a hilarious idea, too!

As you can probably imagine, Mrs. W. did not think it was hilarious. Not one bit.

The next day, each of us boys were pulled into the office separately and asked about what had happened by the principal. I remember using the word “groin” instead of “balls” because that seemed like the more proper term to use when addressing a principal. Then the principal asked me, “did she say groin or did she say balls?” Of course by the time we had heard it, it was 10th generation so who knows what was originally said.

I don’t think we got any official discipline marks on our cards for that but in Mrs. W.’s head I’m sure we each got a bazillion. Even at the age of 11 I knew enough to lay low.

Well, not exactly.

All of this had gone down just a few weeks before the end of school and as every kid knows, the reach of a teacher ends at the edge of the school’s property and certainly can’t lay hands on you over the summer.

All of this brings us to the KJ-103 Party Line.

KJ-103 was our city’s top 40 radio station. Everybody in school listened to it. They played all the popular songs, clips from current movies, and had all the best DJs. They also had fun segments like the KJ-103 Party Line. When the Party Line kicked off, kids would call and tell jokes or secrets or say random things and the DJ would pick someone to give a random prize to.

I spent years trying to get through to the party line, and got through for the first time the last week of school. I had just heard a funny joke at school that started like a lot of jokes did in the 1980s: “A white guy, a black guy, and a Pollock…” The minute the joke began to come out of my mouth I realized that might not be appropriate to say that on the radio and so I chickened out and said, “I won’t say any races…” Don’t worry, you’ll hear it on the tape.

Did I mention I have this on tape? I do. I’ll paste it below.

Now proper etiquette on the Party Line, especially if you wanted to win anything, was to get in and get off. Don’t ask for too much and don’t say anything that could get you made fun of. Just as I delivered the punch line, I decided to push my luck and try to give somebody the Royal Flush. If you gave somebody the Royal Flush the DJ would play a royal sound clip followed by the sound of a toilet flushing.

So, I decided to poke the bear and give Mrs. W. the Royal Flush. It felt great.

I never thought I would be the winner on the Party Line, and I sure didn’t think it through when the DJ asked for my name and I said my first and last name, which he repeated on the air. Fortunately, nobody in my school heard it — just kidding, every single kid in my school (along with half the teachers) heard it. How do I know? Because the minute I stepped into school the next day, everybody told me.

“Mrs. W. already knows. You’re gonna get it.”

So, I got to worry about that through first hour, second hour, third hour, lunch, fourth hour… and then came fifth hour. Mrs. W.’s class.

I had no idea why the same teacher who literally hit kids with a paddle for shuffling their feet or sneezing too loudly would let being called out on the radio before being virtually flushed down the toilet. Everybody in class was waiting to hear what she would say. If I remember correctly, she let everyone know she knew about it and I thought that would be it. Then she said something to the effect of, “we’ll see how funny his parents think it was.”

For the record, she never called my parents. It was bad enough that I had already interrupted one of her classes by walking in, forming a circle around her with a couple of other pre-teen boys and started scratching our balls. By this point I’m pretty sure all she wanted was for me to be gone. The feeling was mutual.

My lame joke on the Party Line landed me two tickets to see Space Camp. I can barely remember anything about that movie, but I sure remember how I got those tickets.

Oh, right — the joke.

Mrs. W. passed away a couple of years ago. I saw the announcement on Facebook and it was followed with a bunch of comments about how she was the best teacher ever, how she had taught people so much, and how she had ben such a great inspiration.

I didn’t say anything at all. I was afraid of getting a discipline mark.