Read Boarding School for Free Online Page B

era— the early 1970s—it was the style for guys to grow their hair out. A few students, like the head waiter, had hair past their shoulders and nearly all of us had our hair covering our ears. So the negative reactions around the room were in response to the offer to be given a haircut. Oh, that’s it, I thought to myself. I was still getting used to the accents and many odd habits of speech I was hearing for the first time in my life such as the New England tendency to drop the letter “R” from the end of words where it really belonged. So when I heard the word “baba,” I had no idea that Mr. Stuart believed that he had just said the word “barber”—which of course he hadn’t.
    Finally, Mr. Stuart called for the cook to come out of the kitchen to be introduced. The man who made what I considered some of the worst institution food I had ever tasted was a large overweight African American with an extremely disagreeable personality. His name was Thomas Jefferson, and the only thing he said to us of note was that he never wanted any one to come back to his kitchen to ask him for seconds. According to the man whom the Academy catalog referred to as a famous chef, we were always given plenty of food the first time around, so there was never any need for us to return for more. As the man spoke, I got the impression that he really didn’t care at all for kids. Later, I learned that the theory among the students was that Thomas was skimming money off of the food budget so he could pay for the shiny new blue Camaro he always kept parked just outside the kitchen’s back door.
    When the announcements were finally over, it was nearly time for all of us to leave the dining room. By now, Matt and I were acting the way that new roommates typically do when they first become acquainted. That is to say, we were doing everything together. So with the opportunity now before us to go into town, as soon as lunch was over we took advantage of it together.
    The one o’clock van was packed with kids wanting to taste freedom again, and because we had arrived early, we were able to count ourselves among the chosen few. The van was driven by one of the teachers. Students were expressly forbidden from driving the school van for insurance and other more obvious reasons. And when we finally disembarked at the Duncan Donuts, Matt and I were joined by a new friend we had made earlier that day.
    Frank DeVierno was a year older than we were and was from New York City. Actually, Brooklyn was the borough where he lived with his mom, his sister, and his grandparents. This was his second year at the Academy and with his streetwise persona, he came across as a kind of tough kid who knew everything about everything. Matt and I weren’t sure if he was tagging along with us to be helpful, or because he had nothing better to do and wanted to see how two boys from other planets would be spending their afternoon. Because by now, it seemed to be known all over school that we westerners were different.
    “So, Frank,” I asked a little later on as we were coming out of a drug store on Main Street. Matt and I had both needed to pick up some things like toothpaste and shampoo and I had also bought a bottle of baby oil. At that time, kids were using baby oil instead of sun tanning lotion because it was believed that the oil gave a person a richer, more natural-looking tan. Anyway, I wanted to have some for the upcoming occasions when we would be lying out on the Academy’s beach after an afternoon of swimming in the lake. “I’ve been all over the campus by now and I haven’t been able to figure out where the pool is.”
    Frank then stared at me with a sort of amused look on his face. To me at that moment he resembled a person who had just eaten something he hadn’t intended. “What pool?” he asked.
    “The pool on the campus. You know, there’s a picture of it in the catalog?” I was beginning to raise my voice. How could a guy who had already