Chapter 22

On the first Monday of May, a fine, warm and sunny day, W. Paul Prentiss, the newly installed assistant principal who had been at the school since the spring break, made a mistake, a very public mistake since he had invited TV, radio and newspaper coverage. He decided to strictly enforce the student dress code and stood on the front steps as the busses arrived, pulling girls aside and handing them one of the hundred extra large, lily-white t-shirts he had purchased and telling them to put them on. There was a lot of squealing and shirts thrown in the air. And it was on the news that evening, most local TV stations had covered the event, and in the newspapers the next day. Prentiss was interviewed and ended up looking and sounding officious and asinine. The students, especially the girls, were angry and outraged, but none of them was interviewed.

Girls that refused and threw the shirt down or at him, had their names taken and were assigned detention. Some of the senior girls put on the thin t-shirts but took off everything under them; that got pretty exciting as the halls filled with groans and whistles.

On the PA announcements that morning, Mr. Prentiss explained, at length. Girls could not wear shirts or tops that showed their underwear or underwear straps, had extra big arm openings or displayed their middles; he said their midriffs. "Read your student manual," he concluded. By lunchtime, wearing a baggy, Prentiss-type t-shirt had become a badge of honor.

Every class asked him about what had happened, and he told them all just about the same thing. "Stick to the rules and don't be rowdy or impolite. I'll talk to him. Just tone it down. Keep it cool."

But he didn't and couldn't. The assistant principal, he was told, was very busy interviewing recalcitrant females. There were several parents sitting on the main office benches, looking very unhappy. A TV-news truck was out in the parking lot. The cafeteria was noisier than it had ever been.

On Tuesday most of the senior girls wore chop-tops or halters or sundresses that were barebacked, no bra straps could be seen. The boys loved it, applauded some of their more daring classmates. Several had worn bikini tops with light cover-ups. They were sent home in cabs. Mr. Prentiss ran out of t-shirts and started taking names. After a while, he gave that up. It was show-and-tell senior high version, and the boys loved it.

During the morning announcements he told the student body that proper dress was important, that this was a work place and not a recreation center, and that girls could not wear what would be all right at the beach to school. "It will go on your record, your permanent record, college admission people will see it," he warned. "And your parents will be called, and you will be sent home to change your clothes and be marked absent or tardy." There was another PA warning at the end of the school day, suspensions were threatened.

On Wednesday most girls wore pajama tops for blouses, some of them their fathers' that hung off their hands, and a few wore long muumuus or their mothers' long summer gowns. Several wore tiny shorts with the PJ tops and showed a lot of leg. Most of the senior boys went shirtless. By the end of first period, all the boys in all the classes were bare to the waist. It was a mild day and almost everybody was smiling. Very little work was done that day.

There was an assembly third period, a whole school assembly that filled the big auditorium. It felt as if the air conditioning had been turned up high. The place was very cold, and there was a lot of murmuring and grousing as well as some surreptitious hugging.

Mr. Prentiss walked to the podium, cleared his throat and opened a copy of the student handbook. He read the whole dress code, which included the wearing of shoes, and then looked up. "You people made this, this dress code, didn't you? It is yours. Where is Michael Abelson?"

The student council president stood up and raised his hand.

"You made this dress code, didn't you? It's yours, isn't it?"

"Well, yes sir, I guess so, in a way," said Michael, nodding. "Some of the students that were here seven or eight years ago made it, at least had a hand in making it, helped make it, somebody told me they did. We've lost those records. I think most of it was the work of the woman who was principal then." He sat down and then stood up again quickly, "She was retiring that year."

"Well," said Mr. Prentiss, "right now it is the law, the rule, the code for all students in this school. The student council approved it then. If you want to change it, there is a process. And you must abide by it; you must dress appropriately for school. All of you, males as well as females."

Silence. You would not think that more than a thousand adolescents could be so quiet. No coughing or throat clearing, no foot shuffling and chair squeaking. No sneezing or chortling. The teacher looked around, amazed and amused, and saw smiles and grins; the kids were having fun. He tried and failed to see Miss Collins in the crowd, there were a lot of blonde heads.

"Well?" said Mr. Prentiss, after a long pause, tapping on the lectern with his fingers. "Are you going to conform?"

Polly McAndrews, the vice-president of the student council and captain of the field hockey team, stood up. The teacher had her in an English class two years ago and still remembered her well and fondly.

"Who are you?" asked the assistant principal, blinking at the girl in her baggy pajama top that had little pink bears on it.

Polly introduced herself. If the school still had a valedictorian, she would probably have been it. Michael Abel was handsome and popular, well-liked, a third-string football player, but basically spineless, a young man who did not want to rock any boats or cause any trouble. A frat boy at heart. He was a marginal student who would probably be attending the community college or state university. Polly was a jewel, a tall, dark-haired, absolutely priceless jewel, both smart and pretty.

"We know how to dress appropriately," said Polly, loudly and clearly. "We have for a long time. Our parents taught us, sir." There was a noticeable pause before the 'sir.'

Mr. Prentiss held up his hand and made a sound, a sub-vocalization the teacher mentally labeled it, but Polly ignored him and his stop sign. He blinked several times.

"You cannot put shirts on us. Sir. It is not right. If you have a question about some person's attire, some student's dress, then question it, talk to the student, counsel him or her. If what you want is reasonable, no problem, sir. Absolutely no problem. We are reasonable people, almost all of us. Understand? We can change, adjust, even conform." She sat down and then quickly stood up again. "And I hope you have noticed that we have not told the TV stations or the newspapers what we are doing this week, unlike what you did."

Applause filled the room and the shirtless boys stood and clapped until the principal took the stage and raised his hands. Mr. Prentiss left quickly, trotted down the stage steps and went through a side door. It was the last anyone at the school ever saw of him.