My senior year high school English examination. As you can see I did not do very well. This was the final mark against my graduating or being held back.
But yet I had a wonderful kind compassionate teacher named Mister Bennett. That is Bennett. B-E-N-N-E-T-T. Bennett. A small man with a purpose. He'd walk in like a drill Sargent, slam his huge doctor like bag briefcase onto the wood desk, write something on the black board, then turn to the class and start to lecture. No questions, no asides, just facts in a buzz-saw dialect.
As usual in high school, I was not interested with this foreign language so I did not comprehend that I needed to pass this grade to get out of this school and into another school.
But Mr. Bennett, for whatever reason, gave me another chance. A make-up paper given on a Saturday to see if I could squeak by and graduate this fine establishment.
I seemed to pass, even with the comments, and I'll never forget or forgive or be able to thank the short little man who got me out of high school.
I had other things on my mind.
Like taking care of friends.
as they say now..... hehehe.
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