Pumpkin Joe Saved My Life

I don’t know why or how it happened but by the time I got so high school I was convinced I was about the stupidest, most incompetent student in the world. I had no self-confidence, was afraid of even the simplest math problems and in general had given up on ever getting to college. If that wasn’t enough I was also painfully shy. When I say shy I mean so shy I could not even pick up the phone at home to answer it and could not dial anyone buy my aunt to have a chat. The thought of being asked to get a number from directory assistance for my parents was enough to send me to the bedroom to take a nap. Let’s just settle on the bottom line, I was a mess.

Well High School is a bit of a trial under any circumstances but somehow, and I can’t really recall how to this day, I managed to get through my first year without anything horrible happening to me. Well, except for PE, where I was unable to catch, throw, run, hit or dribble (that’s basketball jargon folks) without creating incident. Anyway, I made it to second year anyway. Now, back in those days, at the start of second year you went to your Guidance Counsellor before you were assigned classes. My counsellor, Mr. Cassidy, wasn’t much interested in me (or anyone else from what I heard) and just filled in my class card and handed it back to me. “These are the classes you belong in Brian.” I didn’t have the nerve to remind him my name was David.

So, I’m in second year now, English class. Looking around it became obvious to me that none of the students in this English class were familiar to me. That may not sound odd but it isn’t because there should have been at least one familiar face from last year’s English class sitting in that room. It turns out that I had been assigned to the lowest stream of English literature class. Of course I had no problem with that, it was proof positive I was right about myself all along, I was stupid. I sat in that class for about a month, mostly day dreaming because the teacher rarely taught us anything (so often the case with the lowest stream; they tend to get the under-performing teachers according to the research). Day in, day out, 1pm class, wondering if we were ever going to get to read a whole book, I sat. That is until the day pumpkin Joe walked in to give the teacher a message.

Pumpkin Joe was the teacher who taught honours English literature. This was in the early sixties when people dressed funny. Pumpkin Joe was always in ochre or yellow or saffron; shirt, tie, trousers all matching in the same bilious shade of orange. He was Mr. Smith, known to be one hell of a teacher but we all called him pumpkin Joe, behind his back of course. I had never dreamed he would ever teach me because I wasn’t “material” for an honours class. My best friend Cipriano was in honours English and he was always telling about the great books they read, even Shakespeare. Not for me though, I was settling for a few comic books and the odd short story now and then.

Well, pumpkin Joe walked into that class and look at me, right straight at me. I had never exchanged a word with him. He looked at me with the most puzzled look. It made me nervous. I thought I was in trouble for some unknowable reason and began to mentally rehearse the sort of explanation and apology I would make for this unknown but obviously horrible misdeed. Pumpkin Joe exchanged a word with the class teacher and on walking out of the room came to my desk and asked to see me in the hall. I was dying now; surely I was going to be suspended, even expelled form school. Did I mistakenly sell drugs that day I gave a bag to Butch Weldy and took the money he gave me back to John, “the fist”, Gahan, who had given me the bag in the first place? None of the above I assure you. Pumpkin Joe, I mean Mr. Smith, just said to me, “What in hell are you doing in this class Carey?”

What could I say? I didn’t have an answer. “Mr. Cassidy told me I belong here” was all I could mutter. “Well you don’t belong here. You’re a bright student and I want you to transfer to my honours English class tomorrow. I organise it with Cassidy myself.” Could this be true? Was I really not stupid? And if I wasn’t, how did he know? He never even spoke a word to me. The next thing I knew it was Thursday, the next day, and I was sitting in Mr. Smith’s honours English class reciting Shakespeare and memorizing Hamlet’s soliloquy in preparation for reciting it aloud. What can you say? How did he know I wasn’t stupid? I still can’t figure it out.

I spent the next three years in Honours English with Mr. Smith, who I never referred to as pumpkin Joe again. But the story doesn’t end there. You see, I was still shy, really shy. I had friends but they were the ones I had from elementary school. I still couldn’t make a phone call or answer the phone. The idea of getting a girl friend was foreign to me as a result.

I loved English class. Every moment of it was magic. I still remember exactly where I sat when we were working our way through Great Expectations and I remember what the weather was like when I read aloud the scene where Miss Haversham sets herself on fire. Anyway, back to my story. One day after class Mr. Smith asked to see me in the hall, again! I wasn’t frightened this time though. He asked me if I had a job. I didn’t have one but needed one badly. Money was scarce in the family, my father had been on strike for months, food was scarce and I knew things were hard for my parents. So I told Mr. Smith I had no job but needed one. “Well David, my sister runs an office and needs a part-time assistant. I will ring her tomorrow and you go see her after school.” Just like that, this saint in ochre, this pumpkin I now knew as Mr. Smith, saw something in me.

It wasn’t about the money. That was important, but it wasn’t the money. It was the fact that the job required me to answer phones, wait on customers at the counter, make phone calls, book hotel reservations for strangers, ring people in other states, organise travel documents for people; all these things gave me courage to find my voice. I was talking to strangers! I wasn’t shy any more. I could do anything, really, I could do anything. That’s what I thought in my head.

I held that job all the way through university. It was the greatest job I ever had really. I gave me life. Well, I should say the pumpkin Joe gave me life. Somehow he saw what was in me, believed there was more there than met the eye. He was the first person to do that.

He probably thinks he just did some kid a good turn. Actually, he saved my life.

Mr. Smith, wherever you are, thanks, its David and I finished college long ago.