St Ignatius High School - Ignatian Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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Sketches of Teachers 23

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BOV U Just draw in your notebook and act like you’re taking notes. t's 12:10 p.m. Half the class is comatose; the other half is dead. Another pupil collapses as the teacher lectures on about the speed of electrons. There are only 55 more minutes of Honors Physics. Suicide looks like a very nice alternative right now. But wait! There is another way out of class boredom. It's not drooling, sleeping, or hurling paper wads at the kid across the room. (Although those are quite acceptable.) It's something called sketches of teachers. You know, those uncensored doodles of your favorite teachers in various uncensored poses and positions. doing uncensored things. These sketches can be quite informal. Crude stick figure drawings are very popular, especially those with the appropriately enlarged anatomical parts (e.g. the nose or eyes). Or they can be quite elaborate, with exaggeration being the key to a good sketch. A good way to measure how boring a class is. is to examine the cartoons of the teacher. Almost always the teacher who is sketched with the most detail (you know, the kind with even the nasal hair showing) is the most boring. It is comforting to know that the teachers who are considered the most boring may be spawning future artists. Who knows, maybe another Pablo Picasso is taking chemistry right now. It also appears that as one progresses through school, he becomes more creative in sketching teachers. Freshmen can't even stay within the lines, let alone draw a good doodle. By the time those aspiring artists become seniors, however, they have no fear of drawing those malicious and perverted sketches. And they have mastered the art of caption-writing. As one doodler put it. I guess it's just fun to poke fun of those teachers that drive you crazy. How does one get started, you may ask. Well, just stick the point of the pen (preferably a felt tip) onto the paper and just flick it every which way. Keep your strokes long and hard, remembering always to stay within the lines. Start with the face and then the body. Your eyes should be last, but not least. Let your imagination be your only bounds. Draw like you have just been unchained from years of artistic repression. And remember, caricatures are best. Thomas F. Comerford, stroker extraordinaire, offers these fine words of advice. If you're bored and tired, don’t give up. Just draw in your notebook and act like you're taking notes. If you can't do that, just try to push it. There are some nevers to drawing sketches of teachers. Never let the teacher catch you doodling in class. Never color outside the lines. Never sketch in red ink. (It's too tacky!) and never ever say never again. 22 A Day in the Life

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BAR MEETS BAU a We gotta get our a!!es outta here and go bust some hippie heads. Above: A lot of history passed its time within those busted and buried tavern walls. Now. the Rhumba, a victim of arson, seems destined to become the next school parking lot. uffalo Bill's defunct. Sweet Jesus, so's the Rhumba. In 45 minutes one snowless December day. Death by ball and bulldozer. The obese woman's moved on. but the legends linger. A lot of history passed its time within those busted and buried tavern walls. G. Peter Holsappel opened the establishment's doors the day Hoover was elected president in 1928. Two men died. Bobby Vitas, a working class Republican, was doing shots of J.D. and getting hopelessly loaded. Goddang • %ing Democrats. Trying to elect a %ing Catholic president. Smith—He's a goddang pope's dog. Ain't gonna have no pope's dog for president.” Jeff Dooley, a working class democrat and one of those %ing Catholics, was sipping his tonic and gin. He ordered a whole bottle of Jack Daniels, shattered it on the bar. leapt from his stool like a hyena, and beat, sheared, and shredded poor Bobby dead. Fat Pete” Holsappel. meanwhile, had grabbed his double-barreled sawed-off shotgun. He told Jeff to cut the crap. Poor Jeff didn't listen. He left the bleeding mess of Bobby V. bleeding on the floor and started for Fat Pete with his J.D. stiletto slashing. Poor Jeff's brains splattered the new walls, liberated from their cranium by a point blank blast from Pete's firestick. Eisenhower was president in 1957 and Don Garrick owned and bartended the Rhumba. Elvis Presley was raising eyebrows and James Dean's bones were sprouting weeds. P.J. Barnhardt and Ralph Steadyman were quaffing some post-workday Schmidts and watching the tube. October winds kicked up the grime on Lorain. A guy on the TV said the Russians had just placed Sputnik in outer space. Sputnik? wondered P.J.. What in the gracious God's hell is Sputnik?” Ralph, whose brother would one day work for NASA, naturally knew exactly what Sputnik was. Ralph knew everything. Hey, good buddy Peej, what is you—stupid? Sputnik's them commies' latest pree-mier— he was too goddam American for 'em. so they just blasted his butt to the moon. P.J. though that was a lot of bull, and he said so: Bull barnacles. Ralph!” Unshaken. Ralph declared, I bet you 100 cash Sputnik's their old pree-mier. You're on. Steadyman, gambled P.J. The two friends agreed that Don Garrick would settle the issue. They asked the barkeep. Ralph won. P.J. Barnhardt was an honest, gregarious man. so he ordered a round of Schmidts for everyone and. the following day. paid Ralph in full. The summer of love was long over in 1970. Vietnam wasn't. Nixon was busy bombing. The Hell's Angels called the Rhumba home. Their Harleys cluttered the street. Their leather stalked the floorboards. Buster Beefheart, the owner, liked his studded clientele. He found them alliterative, metonymaic. in a word, poetic. Yo. a!!hole, barked a biker, it's Five %ing o'clock. We gotta get our a!!es outa here and go bust some hippie heads. The bar cleared amid a cacophony of unmuffled horsepower and a reek of unleaded gasoline. Several hippies suffered busted heads that night on Coventry. In 1987. the Rhumba fell victim to fire. Some swore a Jesuit had torched it. The school was interested in the property. Then came the ball and bulldozer. Ponder, darling, these busted and buried walls. Ponder and remember. 1 ] I 24 A Day in the Life