Fred Rowe
Well-Known Member
In early October, 1957 Mark and Steve and I were in the same 9th grade class @ Groveport Madison school; we were all farm kids living around the small central Ohio town of Groveport. We were 13 years old and we thought ourselves, the greatest rocket scientist in that part of America. We were building our own rockets and launching them off the CSX railroad bridge, south of town. We met every Saturday morning at nine to plan and launch.
We were sitting in homeroom class, on Friday morning, it was Oct 4th 1957 A “special announcement came over the pa system informing us that the dreaded Russians had launched an orbiting satellite; it was called Sputnik".
Mark and Steve and I sat in a group at the back of the classroom and I know the teacher, Mr Peters, heard a collective moan coming from our seats. We were at once ashamed, that it had not been our country that had done this amazing thing and were also thrilled that someone had really done it. We all puffed up our chest, proud of our connection to the world of rocketry.
We were arm in arm, proud and boastful throughout the long school day.
The final bell of the day rang at 4:30 and the building started to empty.
As we headed out the main doors of the school, headed for the buses to take us home, I pulled out my crumpled pack of Winstons, offering each of my friends one. This was not tolerated on school property, but we were special that day, we were rocketeers.
As we strolled through the big double doors and down the concrete steps to the buses, I looked back over my shoulder only to see the hall monitor staring at the three of us, each with a cancer stick hanging from our lips. We were had and I knew it.
Being young men of scientific mind, we formed a plan meant to deceive. We would not go easily.
As we huddled on the sidewalk, Mark told Steve and I , “they sell those pens at Ackermans that look just like filtered cigarettes". We would walk home, we had to have those cig pens.
We pooled our money and headed for the drug store. Sure enough, as Mark had said, there on the glass counter sat the cigarette pens. We bought three.
Next morning in home room we huddled in the back of the class, waiting and expecting the worst.
Over the PA came, "Steve Harder, Mark Francis and Fred Rowe report to the principals office". Again we knew the teacher heard our collective moan. But we had a plan; we each had our cig pen in our right front pocket ready to show the principal. We were full of youthful confidence as we headed for the office.
With the principal glowering over us came the words, “empty your pockets on my desk” he had one hand on his hip, the other on a long paddle.
We each emptied our pockets on Mr. Monjhars big desk. Out came our cig pens, milk money a couple of bottle caps a fish hook along with our pocket knives. Mark had a big 2 blade Barlow, Steve a leather handled sheath knife that he couldn't wear on his waist, he had forgotten his belt and I placed my cherished Case xx that my dad had given me on the big desk.
The principal looked at us over his glasses, resting on the end of his nose knowing he had been had and we were going to get away with it. He took the 3 cig pens in his hand and dropped them in his top desk drawer.
The two pocket knives and the sheath knife with no belt to wear it properly, went back into our pockets without a word from the principal.
It was a very different time and Mark and Steve and I were young rocketeers, we were invincible .
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