MCCOMB JR. HIGH PUPILS STRIKE

"Popeye" Lambright was older than most of his fellow students by almost 2 years. I first knew him in the McComb Jr. High School when I was in the 7th grade. He looked about 16 and was in the 8th grade, and I suppose he was shaving daily.

One Friday in the Spring of 1937, the high school let out for the day at 10 AM because they were hosting a Field Day for other high schools at the football stadium. Since most of the high school kids would not even be going to Field Day, they got the day off. This, to say the least, was not very popular in the Jr. High building next door. The teachers didn't sympathize with us in wanting the same privilege, because they knew the schedule called for a Festival Day for us later in the year. We felt WRONGED and the Jr. High students grew more and more indignant with being kept in.

There was a good deal of grumbling and dissatisfaction being expressed among us as we went downstairs for the 10:30 recess, and some near-belligerent looks and remarks directed at teachers. Our classrooms and auditorium were all on the second floor; the first floor was occupied by the system administrators. On the "dump," a huge red-clay raised playground area, we gathered in small groups discussing how we might force the school authorities to give us the rest of the day off. When the bell rang to end recess, and our not having consolidated a plan to rebel, we started back for the entrance. Head-high, being held in place by a wad of chewed green bubble gum, was a sheet of paper with words printed in large letters on it. They said, "IF YOU WANT A HOLIDAY, STAY DOWN AFTER RECESS."

Standing there eyeing us with a pleased smirk on his face, hands in his pockets, and not saying a word, was Popeye Lambright, and it didn't take a genius to know who had written the note. Well, it was just what the doctor ordered for us boys. We began encouraging each other to stay down and go on strike against the school; our Principal, Miss Woods, would be FORCED to give us the rest of the day off! About sixty boys stayed down. All the girls and some sissy boys went back upstairs.

We milled around the front steps, telling each other that we would NEVER go back, and there was NOTHING the authorities could do about it! They wouldn't DARE to drag us bodily up the stairs; we could use this method any time we wanted a day off! We made every boy promise NOT TO MOVE NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAID TO US; how could they expel ALL the boys in Jr. High School?

It didn't take long for our walkout to be noticed upstairs. Various teachers would come to the windows and look out with worried looks on their faces. Miss Woods was red0headed and had a reputation for strictness, and she tested our resolve by calling down, "You boys come up here right now!"
Well, we didn't go.

We said to each other that we were not afraid of her "whipping machine!" (It was commonly believed by the students that there was some kind of electric machine in the Principal's Office that could give whippings automatically.)
We boasted to each other that even if they did expel us, we didn't care!

After about 10 minutes we began to feel that we were winning, and we got louder and more boisterous. We chanted in unison, "WE WANT A HOLIDAY! WE WANT A HOLIDAY!" The faces that appeared at the window grew more concerned and worried. It was clear that the Faculty did not know what to do. At this point, the Superintendent of Schools, D. L. Blackwelder, stuck his head out the window, which brought a louder response from us. He didn't order us back and we had mustered up enough Dutch courage to have confidence that we wouldn't obey him anyhow. The strike had started as a prank, but its continued success was building up steam, and the situation was on the verge of violence.

Just when it appeared that victory was in our grasp, disaster fell. Miss Vera Netterville, the smallest teacher in the school, weighing about 85 pounds, and the sister of Miss Ruth Netterville, 2nd grade teacher at South McComb School, marched out of the school door. She had a no-nonsense look on her face, and she was the teacher most feared by all of us. She walked right through the mob of boys, who suddenly grew silent and stepped aside to let her pass.

"ALL RIGHT. YOU BOYS LINE UP!" she ordered. We lined up.

"WHEN YOU COME BY, GIVE ME YOUR NAME," and she took out her pad and pencil. "YOU MARCH YOURSELVES UP THOSE STAIRS AND TAKE YOUR SEATS IN THE AUDITORIUM."

One by one, we marched by Miss Vera, gave her our names, without a word. Popeye was as docile as the rest of us. The strike was over.

The last time I saw Popeye was in the Spring of 1941 when he, along with a number of our fellow students, marched by the high school from the armory to the train depot on their way to active duty. President Roosevelt had activated the National Guard for a year's duty, only it turned out to be 4 or 5 years. The war in Europe was in its third year, and Japan was becoming more and more threatening in Asia. They didn't return until 1945, because Japan bombed Pearl Harbor before their time was up and they were kept until the end of the war; that is, those who survived.

Our generation has been called "The Greatest Generation," because the chance of history had us arriving at young manhood just in time to fight in the largest war the planet has yet seen.

Bruno Johnston, like the rest of us, grew up in severe times and became one of the first of us to go to war. America owes men like Bruno Johnston.