Pioneers

My high school class had its latest reunion last weekend.

I wasn't able to attend in person, but through the wonders of email and the magic of Facebook, I did manage to derive some enjoyment from vicariously getting together with old friends. As at most reunions, the majority of the activities seemed to involve reminiscing while eating and drinking. But they did take a tour of the school, and a few were even able to paint some new graffiti on "the hump."

And therein lies a tale.

The initial school building was constructed in ancient times -- back when school employees could call students "slackers" without fear of ACLU reprisals, when cars had fins and hairstyles required grease, and when the "Enchantment Under the Sea" dance didn't involve any trademarked Disney characters. Back then, there was no such thing as color TV, manned spaceflight, or touch-tone telephones. And since photovoltaic and wind-power energy sources had not yet made fossil fuels obsolete, the school's heating system was forced to rely on old-fashioned combustion to keep the students from freezing to death in the harsh Kansas winters. They burned something called "heating oil", and they stored it in a great cylindrical tank that was half-buried just outside the school building near the student parking lot. Partly submerged and on its side, the visible portion of this heating oil repository resembled something like a meter-high, 5-meter-long speed bump.

The exposed upper half of this tank became known as "the hump", and was often used by graduating seniors as a target for spray-painted graffiti. This graffiti was applied under cover of darkness, and generally consisted of hastily-scrawled notes of pride such as "Seniors '68" or expressions of eternal devotion like "CH + MP." Each year's class would simply spray their words on top of the previous entries, leaving the hump looking like a caffeine addict's multi-colored pre-school fingerpainting.

Just as Mark Spitz emerged to recalibrate swimming, and the Beatles & Led Zeppelin rewrote the history of music, there arose a pair of artistic geniuses who would forever change the way the hump was to be adorned. Wanting to remain true to traditions, but without the traditional artistic compromise, this intrepid unidentified duo planned a way to leave their mark upon the hump while at the same time greatly improving the overall aesthetics of the tank, and indeed of the school grounds in general. Rather than using an anemic spray to stencil another lame slogan, these young stalwarts bought gallons of heavy-duty paint and the biggest brushes they could find...and at the stroke of midnight, proceeded to render the entire hump a gleaming uniform white.

Given the size of the "canvas", I'd imagine the task took quite a while. The students involved were probably highly-trained athletes, using all their strength, stamina, and coordination to boldly paint the entirety of the hump's visible surface. The pristeen uniformity of their efforts shone clearly under the moonlight, and was sure to cause wonderment aplenty when school resumed on Monday.

But even after the entire hump was painted, they weren't finished. For in addition to being artists, these youngsters were deep thinkers as well. For intellects such as these, it wasn't enough to merely render an ugly graffiti site into a beautiful adornment to the landscape...they also wanted to engage the minds of the folks who would be viewing their masterpiece. So, as the white paint began to dry, the midnight painters began Phase II of their artistic plan. With foot-high brushstrokes in coal-black paint, they wrote the following memorable phrase:

Big Mic, Big Heg - Piehead
The gorgeously rendered yet bafflingly cryptic hump message received everyone's full attention on Monday morning. What does it mean? Could regular high school students pull off something this brilliant, or would it require assistance from some sort of advanced alien technology? Everyone know what "Piehead" meant, but who were the mysterious "Big Mic" and "Big Heg"? My best friend Mickey and I spent a good portion of the morning standing around the hump listening to the various theories advanced by the public. The conclusion shared by most was that the perpetrators were most likely some sort of superhuman or godlike entities, possessing wisdom and power far beyond the scale of normal high school experience. Mickey and I agreed that Occam's Razor did indeed support that hypothesis, but also acknowledged that the mystery might never be solved.

Anyway, the point is that even after all these years, the hump still exists. School officials had it dug up quite some time ago, but for some inexplicable reason, instead of discarding it, they moved it across the street and partially re-buried it in a field. As an empty fuel tank it has zero value, but I suspect they kept it as an homage to the creative masters who created such glorious artwork upon its surface so many years ago. And now, decades later, people from my graduating class were able to paint their own graffiti upon it. Unfortunately, modern hump adornments have devolved back to spray-painted slogan sprawling rather than graphically pleasing and thought-provoking displays of wisdom words. Oh well. I'm just happy to know it's still there.

I wish I still possessed the photo I took of the hump after the dramatic unveiling of its glorious fully-painted state. But alas, I do not. As far as I know, no one retains any photographic evidence. Spitz's name can still be found among the historical records, and Beatles tunes continue to appear on the airwaves...but the hump artists' greatest aesthetic and philosophical triumph is lost to the ages. Sigh.

Well, I was planning to share numerous other comments about high school, and additional memories of those youthful times. But those thoughts will have to wait for a subsequent post. And for those of you who were not recipients of a West High education, I may be able to explain the significance of "piehead", too. Or not. In any case and whereever you are, have a great day!