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WOMEN IN DEVELOPMENT of Terrace support Canadian and Third World women in traditional ways

-- like having a potluck luncheon to discuss fund-raising projects. This local group's projects have
-ranged from building fences to garage sales to house cleaning. Members are Liz Ball, Judy Chrysler,
Lori Merrill, Frances Birdsell, Nancy Ross, Val Burgess, Jane Dickson and Elizabeth Snyder. For more
about them, see page B7.

“~It’s amazing how elementary
_--schools have changed since I was
a kid. I guess a mere 25 years
can make a big difference. This
" point was underlined recently
when I witnessed two elementary
. School principals sacrificing their
dignity and faces to young
students with whipped cream and
‘Jello pies. potas
_ The purpose.of this:
- Jello-to-principal_assault was to
|. wudtaine funds ford Junior hockey
team. The shocigjng partawas, the
principals were laughing, joking
and having fun-Principals
having fun? Is this behavior
allowed? I thought there was a
_Tule about that.
_ My elementary school principal,
Mr. Williamson, ate children on
toast for breakfast. The man
. stood soldier-Like outside his
office each morning, intently
scrutinizing every young student
that passed. He’d been rigidly
trained in Nazi principalism, and
we were all aware of the

The way
IT see it...

by Stephanie Wiebe

omnipotent power he held. If you
were called to the principal’s
office, you were dead. People
went in there and never came out
again. Being blessed with perfect
behavior, I never saw the inside
of the principal’s office, but I'd
heard about the heinous fate of
the young victims from. the.few- ~

survivors, He could yell, (pretty .

intimidating) or worse, put a
mark on your permanent record
which would follow you for the
rest of your life, ruining any

“Opportunity to marry, get a bank

loan, or enter a respectable
profession. And worst of afl, it
was rumored in those days, there

_ was a wooden paddle hanging on

his office wall.

The wooden chair outside his
office was no less threatening
than a prison electric chair.
Anyone sitting in that chair was
doomed, at the mercy of a man

- who probably kicked puppies. My

classmate, a young hoodlum
named Sam Reynolds, spent the

_ Eating children for breakfast

entire eighth year of his life in

The Chair, a prelude to a lifetime

of criminal activity, no doubt.
The Mer
grow up to be lawyers and
accountants, rarely had to sit in
The Chair, and if they happened
to have the bad luck to be sat

there, this experience alone would

set them back on the right
course.

Mr. Williamson was never seen
wearing anything but a tweed
suit, and never seen at all outside
of the school. This was part of

“his principal-training. I don’t
know what he did on weekends --

surely he couldn’t mow the front
lawn in casual clothing, or walk

-through the grocery store,

socializing with regular people.
Principals just didn’t do that sort
of thing, even in a small town.

‘Nobody saw him laughing,

dancing, or enjoying a meal in a
restaurant. I think there was a
rule about that, too. A wife? I
don’t know. What would she be
like, what would they do?
Would they sit around a quiet,
formal house (no running,
please), dressed in stiff formal
clothes, discussing school _
discipline problems? It’s hard to
imagine, but perhaps he lived

" kids, kids who would

some sort of a normal
principal-like life.

But a target of Jello and
whipped cream pies? I think not.
Laughing and joking with
Students? Never. Obviously, the
curriculum of principal-training
institutions has changed
somewhat since. Sure, the job
still entails student discipline,
perhaps not as easily doled out

. these days, but the stern god-
like power of a principal is gone.

These days, elementary school
principals are not always stern,
not quite so threatening. They
smile, talk to the kids, act like
normal people. Some of them
wear Minnie Mouse costumes for

Halliowe’en, some of them submit
their faces to Jello-pies. They
hand out stickers and awards to
exceptional students. And they
don’t scem as tall as they used to
be. And they’re younger. Maybe
even around MY age.

I occasionally wonder about the.
outcome of little Sam Reynolds,
the boy who spent so many hours
of his youth in The Chair outside
the principal’s office. For all I
know, he grew up to be a fine
citizen. He might be a parent, a
hockey coach, or both. Maybe,
just maybe he’s become an
elementary school principal.

Isn’t it scary how things can
change in 25 years?

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