Mr. Piper was an ex-Marine instructor turned high school Phys. Ed. teacher, although it seemed to us students that only part of him had turned teacher while the rest remained a Marine. 

Piper was tough. He was strict. He didn’t smile much.  

Some students considered Phys. Ed. class to be “fluffy” or easy, and in many cases they were right.  Upperclassmen got to choose co-ed ping pong, bowling and other low intensity courses.  But freshman did not.  You got whatever and whoever you got. 

I got Piper. Not co-ed. Not fluff. And not easy. If you cared enough to get a good grade, you were going to earn it through real athletic achievement.

We started the year with a unit on cross-country running. There was no shortage of athletes in the class, and many of us were doing fine, but none of us could run distances like Preston. He was one of the stars of the school cross-country team, which had been enjoying a pretty good season so far thanks to Preston’s contributions.

Despite Mr. Piper’s lack of smiling and the hard workouts we were doing, the atmosphere in class was pretty positive for several weeks as we trained together.  When test day came, we met Mr. Piper where the course began; at the bottom of the hill, just outside the football stadium.

The course ran straight along the soccer field, veered right across the adjacent elementary school playground, then left up a moderate hill, passing Lincoln Junior High School, and cresting under a sparse patch of tall trees. The return trip was downhill from Lincoln over a seldom used grass field, and then back across the soccer pitch to the finish, where Mr. Piper would be standing with his clipboard; probably not smiling.

As we stretched and warmed up, Mr. Piper told us the grading criteria. If you could not complete two laps on the course before the period ended, you got a D; end of story. We knew all along that 2 laps within a decent time frame was the goal, so no surprise there. 

Then Piper dropped the bomb on us.  He was going to hold Preston back, giving the rest of us a pretty good head start. But once released, any runner who Preston passed got an automatic C.  

What?!

I’m not sure how this grading system effected Preston, we were too pissed off to care. But back in my mid 80s high school, freshman like us didn’t question teachers like Piper.

As for the grading format, I assume Piper got some sort of pleasure out it, but if so, he didn’t show it. No trace of a smile was on his face.

I was a decent runner and figured to finish in the second group, anywhere from 50-80 yards behind the group of likely leaders. I figured Preston would catch me and I’d get a C.  I didn’t care so much about the grade, but I was pissed about the bullshit grading system he surprised us with.

Piper blew his whistle and we all started running. Everyone except Preston.  He stood beside Piper, waiting to be let loose.  To be fair, Piper did give us a damn good head start. But Preston was a running machine!

About a quarter of the way into the second lap, Preston caught up with the three main groups of runners. He passed the first with ease. A minute later, he passed me and my group as we ascended the hill towards Lincoln Junior High. 

Knowing that I was now sentenced to a grade of C, I eased up on my pace. The irritation of the whole thing was urging me to go faster and try to catch Preston, but logically, I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Preston crested the hill and caught up with the lead group of about seven runners. And that’s when things got interesting.

As they all converged at the top of the hill, under the sparse grove of trees, the runners closed ranks for a quick moment. When they resumed their spacing, Preston was missing.

I looked ahead of the lead group, expecting to see him out in front. 

He wasn’t.

As I crossed into the sparse grove myself, Preston emerged from behind a large tree trunk, still dusting himself off, loudly shouting, “What the fuck, assholes!”

I tried to conceal my satisfaction as I raced straight past him and down the hill towards the finish line.  Everyone was running as fast as they possibly could at this point, trying to make sure that Preston would not catch up again.

He wouldn’t.

The lead group’s tactics had slowed Preston up a good bit. I’m not sure if he got banged up during the “mugging” or if he was just too intimidated to pass the lead group again. Either way, the three main groups of runners ended up finishing ahead of Preston.

None of us said anything to Piper as we met him at the finish line. But he had words for each of us.

Martin: A. 

Jackson: A. 

Fulginiti: A.

On he went, greeting each one of us with a high grade and a straight face.

Minutes later, when Preston jogged casually across the finish line, he was still livid over what had happened up in the grove.

“Mr. Piper,” he said. “Did you see what they did to me at the top of the hill?”

“Yeah – I saw it.” said Piper.

He was smiling.

Visit Five O’Clock Shadow for more of Todd’s writing, and check out his musical projects at toddfulginiti.com.