The Curse of the Yellow
Bus
How
odd! I was oblivious to the curse of the
yellow bus as a student in elementary through high school. The bus curse apparently did not take root until
later in life as a young teacher and coach. The good news is that since I
retired, the frequency and severity of recalling these fears and curses has
faded through time.
Wayne Corle,
of Corle’s Body Shop in Potter Creek and former bus driver will attest to my
first encounter with a school bus as a teacher. Imagine the smile on his face as he opened
the door one winter morning at a stop along his route and there I was, a rookie
educator, standing with the kids, waiting for a ride to school. The reason my car was out of commission that
morning was due to the fact that it was wedged in twelve feet of drifted snow,
just up the road – a casualty from a mishap the evening before. And the reason it was wedged in a snow drift
is a story of its own, that I’ll suitably save for another time.
Wayne’s
laughter and that of the students on the bus was nothing compared to the howls
from the faculty and staff as a few of them witnessed my departure from that
bus a few minutes later at school.
And when
Driver’s Ed Teacher Joe Nastasi visited the roadside drift that afternoon with
a crew of students, (equipped with shovels), his shriek rivaled the decibels of
the local fire whistle. To this day, he
can’t recount that story without laughing hysterically. And…No, they weren’t successful in freeing the
car. Wayne resorted to his wrecker later
in the evening for that.
A couple of
years later, as head track coach, I was returning to the team bus in the
parking lot following the West-Central Coaches Meet in Altoona. To say I was shocked that the bus pulled out
without me is an understatement. The
kids thought I was going home with my wife and told the bus driver to go ahead
without me. Funny, no one even noticed
that my wife wasn’t even there that evening.
Fortunately,
I hitched a ride home with Larry Bulger, the Everett Area track coach, who was
kind enough to offer a ride to his stranded counterpart. We stopped to eat at McDonald’s on the way
home, and while socializing with competing athletes and coaches did improve the
situation that evening, I was still eager to get back home and get to the
bottom of why my bus left the meet without me.
Hoping that second
school bus debacle would soon be forgotten was asking too much. Sure enough, the following year, Dwayne
Gochnour called Dale Batzel a day before the annual Altoona meet. The two were athletic directors at the two
schools at the time. Dwayne jokingly wanted to check to see if Everett should
bring another vehicle along that year in case Northern Bedford’s coach required
a way home.
The curse
reappeared the following spring, too. Both the girls and boys track teams were
sharing a bus on the way back from a meet. Why a young female harrier decided to throw a
knitted warmer, designed for a specific body part to the front of the bus, I’ll
never know. She purchased the gag gift
at Spenser’s in the Altoona Mall and thought it would be funny as she
proclaimed, “this is for you, coach Potchak.”
With all
eyes on my red face, the kids waited with caution to see how I was going to
handle this situation. It was obvious
that most of them knew in advance of the planned scheme.
I tried to
save what little dignity I had left as I tossed the souvenir back to the rear
of the bus. And today, I’ll set aside my
self-respect and not reprint my retort to Loretta Corle Dodson (no relation to
Wayne). ** See below: Not printed in the
papers**
The yellow
bus frustration continued a few years later yet again. This time I served as our school’s Eco Team
Coach and I accompanied my two, well prepared teams to Raystown Lake where we
were vying for a tri-peat victory for the first place trophy.
The
administration booked a substitute for my classes that day. The kids were dressed in proper attire for
the outdoor activity and excitedly boarded the bus with their lunch bags, pens,
clipboards and note books in hand. Some
brought cameras and one borrowed his dad’s binoculars to assist with any
identification tasks that might be asked of them. Yep, following two months of practice, they
were ready!
When the
ranger at the gate stopped our bus and explained that we were one week early
for the competition, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. The sensation got worse as the bus driver,
Bobby Batzel (Dale’s brother) turned toward me with a bewildered gaze. There
was nothing else to do, but return to the school, where luck would have it that
fellow teachers Joe Nastasi and Ralph Scott just happened to see the bus pull
in and make the clock-wise loop around the building (passing by EVERY classroom
in the school).
Completely
out of control, they managed somehow to not collapse with laughter as they
tried in vain to explain to their classes what was going on. If you think my
face was red on the track bus, it felt a few degrees hotter, like an exploding
supernova, this time, as I entered the office and explained our shortened trip
to the principal. Embarrassingly, I had to ask Bob St.Clair for another sub and
for permission to allow the students to miss school again the following
week. At least I got the date correct
the next time.
Yes, the
Beatles may have enjoyed their life together in 1966 in their Yellow Submarine
but I’ve never felt completely relaxed in a yellow school bus since the mid
70’s. Can you blame me?
