EXCERPT One windy, winter day with the indoor thermometer at less than fifty degrees, I
complained to the principal for the umpteenth time about the inadequate heat. I
believed in the old adage, “The wheel that squeaks the loudest get the grease.”
Principal Dynamite Dorothy, in turn, finally went to see our obscure and
elusive, school custodian, Cranky Claude, to complain once more that we had
little or no heat in the classrooms.
During the entire school year, I had only seen Cranky Claude in person twice.
The first time was early one morning when we passed each other in the dark,
basement hallway. Cranky Claude was dressed in dirty bib-overalls. He had on a
lumberjack shirt, hob-nailed boots, and a large, brown, crumpled, felt hat
festooned with little brass pins, fish hooks, and miniature medals and ribbons.
His hairy face was an angry, wrinkled, glaring, and intimidating mask.
To my cheery, “Good morning, Sir,” Cranky Claude said nothing, but he spun
quickly about and retreated to his private hideaway where he loudly slammed the
door. Later, I was told he usually did not come out of his subterranean, boiler
room “office” while there was anyone else in the building.
It was obvious Cranky Claude did not like people, and, especially, he did not
enjoy listening to their complaints. “Why is such an unfriendly person working
here?” I wondered.
The second time I met Cranky Claude was on another of those terribly cold
winter days, when I decided to confront our custodian myself, instead of
bothering Dynamite Dorothy. I wanted to ask him personally if he was certain
there was nothing else could be done to put some heat into the classrooms.
When I knocked on Cranky Claude’s subterranean “office” door, there was no
answer, but the door swung open to reveal the interior of his dark, hideaway
room. Inside I saw endless stacks of magazines surrounding a huge, filthy,
overstuffed, lounge recliner.
Stepping inside the smelly room, I could see there was a large, three-bulb
floor lamp illuminating the dingy room. Just beyond was the huge boiler, and
all the associated equipment that was providing no warmth to our classrooms.
Strangely, I noticed, Cranky Claude’s hideaway room was plenty warm, even a bit
too warm for my tastes. How odd, I thought.
Suddenly behind me, there sounded a very loud and angry voice.
“What are you doin’ in here?” the voice demanded.
I turned and found myself confronting our hermit-like custodian, Cranky Claude.
One glance confirmed his foul mood at finding someone had dare to enter his
private sanctuary.
“I came looking for you, Sir!” I replied, while remaining in place.
“This boiler room is off limits,” he shouted angrily.
“We need some heat in the classrooms!” I replied, while totally ignoring his
obvious upset at my invasion of his private realm. “Can you do anything for
us?”
Still glaring, and suddenly unresponsive Cranky Claude stepped toward me as if
to attack. But he must have thought better of that idea, and he moved past me
looking all about as if to see if anything in his dark “kingdom” had been
disturbed.
“No one is allowed in here!” he insisted, in a loud voice, as if he had heard
nothing I had said.
“We need some heat in the classrooms!” I shouted. “Now! You’ve got heat in
here. There must be a way to pipe some of it upstairs!”
Cranky Claude began to rage back and forth like a caged animal, while muttering
angry incomprehensible oaths. Apparently no one had ever confronted him like
this, but at the moment I really didn’t care.
Finally, I administered the coup de grace. “If you don’t get us some heat into
our rooms, we’re going to get the superintendent and the school board to find us
someone who will!” I turned and strode out of his den, but this time, it was I
who slammed the door!
Back in my classroom, we attempted our learning tasks in our usual coats, hats,
and gloves, when presently we began to notice the room was suddenly getting
warmer! By lunchtime it was definitely pleasant in the classroom! Miracle of
all miracles!
So, off came the coats, hats, and gloves! We all went smiling to the cafeteria
for lunch.
After eating, the schedule called for us to go outside for a recess period, and
there, I listened to several teachers who were discussing the sudden, unexpected
heat in all of the classrooms. It was a shocker, and everyone was grateful for
the respite.
However, after the outdoor recess period was over, and we had all returned to
our classrooms, the heat continued to rise unabated. Before the afternoon was
over it became necessary to open some of our nine-foot windows in search of a
happy-medium temperature. In just a few hours, we had gone from an extreme of
numbing cold, to another of growing, almost overpowering, oppressive heat.
Our principal, Dynamite Dorothy, was as confused by the dramatic turnaround as
anyone. She said our custodian, Cranky Claude, wasn’t talking about how he was
suddenly able to get our boiler to produce heat for the classrooms, nor why he
was unable to regulate it to a more pleasant temperature.
All the custodian said was, “You wanted heat, now you got it!”
Then, he retreated to his hideout “office” and slammed the door!
Dynamite Dorothy immediately called the superintendent to make him aware of
our situation. She also told him about Cranky Claude’s discourteous
behavior.
All of this occurred on a Friday, and, of course, we all closed our classroom
windows before leaving for the weekend. We left hoping that our school leaders
would take immediate steps to correct the situation and investigate the bizarre
behavior of Cranky Claude.
In the school hallway on the following Monday morning, when I reached for the
doorknob to open my classroom I was shocked to discover it was literally “too
hot to handle”. I had to use my glove to keep from burning my hand!
The classroom door almost burst open, when I turned the brass knob, and the
superheated air inside poured out into the hallway like a thick soup, engulfing
everything in its path. The excessive heat actually forced us all backward.
A thermometer in the classroom showed the temperature inside was over 120
degrees, and, judging from appearances inside the room, it had probably been at
that level since right after we had left on Friday.
The surfaces of Formica-covered tables in our classrooms had buckled into large
waves and curls from the excessive heat. Crayons in the students’ desks had
melted into lumpy globs. Stacks of student’s papers on my desk had turned into
crispy, pale-brown parchment. A large, flowered vase had burst, leaving shards
scattered about. Videotapes had melted and had to be thrown out. And, of
course, all of the windows had to be opened to let out the superheated air
before the classrooms could be used. But we were in for another surprise!
All of the windows in the school had been nailed shut. Cranky Claude was
nowhere to be found.
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Children`s Fiction
Non-Adult Fiction
