On the Way to Maturity

{Prompt: Did you ever get in trouble in school?}

The NC School of Science and Mathematics is and was a residential high school for exceptional students who applied to attend from across the state of North Carolina.

In 1980, the first Student Handbook laid out the Code of Conduct (the rules) and the Student Judicial System (the consequences) for the new high school. In his message to the students, in the Handbook, Director Charles Eilber compared the Handbook to a foundation for a building — serving as a support for the structure, while not necessarily dictating the final appearance.

He said:

The content has been planned, discussed, and revised over many months by an experienced staff and faculty, and it represents our effort to assure students and parents of an orderly environment in which living and learning can begin to happen.

However, as we live together and learn from the experiences of this first year, the Handbook must reflect the lessons of experience.  It will evolve and change because many more of us - including students and parents - will be here to contribute to its use and development.

This is the story of one of my “lessons of experience”, and how I contributed to the “use and development” of the NCSSM Student Handbook —helping the new school to grow and take shape.

Cover of the 1980-81 NCSSM Student Handbook

The Code of Conduct

Pages 26 through 30 (five pages) of the 1980-81 NCSSM Student Handbook covered the code of conduct. It served as a warning against mischievous criminal activity, covering every bad thing that an adolescent might dream of doing. It prohibited the use of alcohol and drugs, truancy, vagrancy, possession of weapons, use of fireworks, vandalism, gambling, indecency, or disturbing the peace.

It covered all of the usual forms of criminal misbehavior, but it didn’t begin to consider the forms of provocative behavior that we “gifted and talented” students could imagine. Pranking and PDA (Public Displays of Affection) ran rampant in the early days. And amateur experiments in chemistry and physics were common — testing the limits of the defined rules.

The Handbook also defined the parameters of our world. It covered where we were allowed to be, and when we were allowed to be there. There were sections on curfew, dorm visitation, and quiet hours. There were various required permissions, including permission to ride in cars… to leave campus… to visit home… or to stay overnight (off campus elsewhere). There was a short section addressing “off-limits” areas, including areas under construction, and areas where minors were never permitted.

These restrictions were immediately and repeatedly tested.

Some students attended a frat party at Duke University, early in the fall of the school’s first year. We were sometimes found in the room of a student of the opposite sex, and not always during the hours of visitation.

Classifying the dilapidated tunnels, the morgue, the OR, the pavilions and the breezeways of the former hospital, as “off limits”, was an exercise in futility. What teenager, in the golden age of D&D gaming, wouldn’t dare to explore such an incredible maze of haunted spaces?

Student Judicial System

So the Code of Conduct was tested… frequently tested… from the moment we arrived. And that’s when the Judicial System came into effect. According to the Handbook, “This system consists of three phases which indicate the disciplinary status of the student.” These were “Phase 1,” “Phase 2,” and “Phase 3.”

The jargon itself… the “Phase” system… was a source of amusement. The terminology was unfortunate, because many of us (science nerds) were fans of Star Trek (the original series) which was reaching a big audience through syndication before our school opened. Being “phased” by the administration seemed like a surreal experience, as if we were part of a Star Trek plot where the phasers were set to “Warning,” “Stun,” or “Kill.”.

Most violations fell under the definition of a Phase 1 offense, which basically amounted to a written warning. It included things like a violation of curfew hours or visitation policy, or a failure to sign in or sign out.

Phase 2 generally resulted from repeated offenses, and resulted in a call to the student’s parents, and a written letter in the student’s file. It was considered a probationary status, which could put the student’s continued enrollment in peril. Still, it was not uncommon.

Phase 3, on the other hand, was no joking matter. A phase 3 violation was considered a serious offense. A phase 3 allegation could result in strict probation, suspension, or even dismissal from school. And it would result in a disciplinary hearing in front of faculty and staff, and in a school of only 150 students, living elbow to elbow, a disciplinary hearing would become common knowledge.

My Juvenile Behavior

In my junior year — my first year at NCSSM — I tallied a number of Phase I violations. I was late for curfew. I pranked other people on the hall. I failed to show up for my community service assignments. But for the most part, my transgressions were minor. I had no ambitions of causing havoc or mayhem.

During the summer, between my junior and senior years (at home), I was an assistant Sunday school teacher at church, and a substitute newspaper delivery carrier. I helped my family and neighbors with yard and household chores. I played basketball with the children of refugees from Vietnam. I was a pretty good citizen, if my mother is to be believed. She wrote a letter in my defense—including all of these positive actions, after she had been notified of the trouble I’m about to describe.

She must have thought I was a pretty good kid, even though I would sometimes misbehave, or shirk my responsibilities. In a typewritten letter, addressed to the dean of student personnel, she said, “…Naturally there were many other good and bad decisions Steve made…, and he has usually paid for or learned from each episode on the way to maturity.”

And she said, “…I am interested in Steve’s living with a basically happy and comfortable outlook upon the opportunities he has, wherever he is….”

My mother’s letter - my personal copy.

She sent me a carbon copy. Me… a juvenile! I just think that’s incredible. She is defending my juvenile behavior, and at the same time she is looping me in on the letter, like I’m a full fledged working adult.

Or maybe the little “cc” at the end is a little dig at the bureaucracy. She is sneaky snarky that way. I think she might have been satirizing the formality of the administration. Either way, it’s priceless.

So here’s the reason she had to get involved….

The Unfortunate Incident with the Vending Machine

Shortly after my senior year began, I found myself exploring the bowels of my dormitory building late at night.

The first and second floors of “Hill House” were filled with rooms for the male students, including myself. I lived on the first floor. But it wasn’t just a dormitory building. The basement of Hill House held classrooms and a mailroom.

And somewhere in the basement there was a tunnel that led underground to the oldest buildings on campus. But that tunnel had been completely hidden, somehow, in a feat of wizardry or engineering. I certainly can’t credit its disappearance to the administration, whose efforts were usually so insubstantial.

Perhaps we were looking for that tunnel in vain, but somehow, sometime after midnight, four of us found ourselves in a vending area in the basement. We were in an “off limits” area after curfew - a phase II offense at worst. There we all were — me, my roommate, Robert Lee, my soccer teammate, John Armitage (all seniors), and an innocent junior, Hooman Sabeti. Hooman had the unfortunate luck to be under our very bad influence that evening.

So we happened to come upon a vending machine, late at night, which was in very poor condition. Parts of the plastic barrier at the bottom of the machine were broken. Some of the metal spirals, that would turn and propel the snacks forward were disengaged. Some of the snack packages were still to be found in an orderly row, but most of the snack selections had been purchased long ago. Clearly the machine was in disrepair, non-functional, and out of commission.

It was the perfect opportunity for practice.

We wanted to see what kind of dexterity was required to dispossess this machine of its wares. Mind you, this was more like a form of quality inspection than like something malicious or destructive. We wanted to see if the vending machine’s engineered protections could be circumvented by the right set of contortions — using our scrawny arms and our nimble fingers. It was purely scientific.

Robert went first.

He was crouched down — one knee on the ground. You had to get your shoulder low, close to the low level of the teetering L-shaped plastic tray that was normally pushed in to retrieve the purchased item.

He managed to get his arm through, with the tray partially opened (and partially closed). And with some contortions of arm and torso, he managed to turn his elbow and upper arm from a horizontal to a vertical position, within reach of a vending item. This was actually pretty entertaining to watch.

As he strained to complete the maneuver — as we observed his practice run with a mixture of admiration and jocularity — we heard a deep voice behind us say, with no hint of amusement, “What’s going on here?”

In the Hands of the Authorities

A Phase III hearing was completely unexpected. I fully expected to skate by with a Phase I reprimand, the customary penalty for a curfew violation. Instead we were accused of vandalism — an egregious offense — and, in my opinion, a huge miscarriage of justice.

I chalk it up to ill humor. Our Resident Advisor, Tom Boddie reported the incident, lodging the complaint. The head of student services, Michael Collins scheduled the hearing, ensuring our punishment.

Mr. Boddie couldn’t see the slapstick, comical humor of Robert’s practice attempt. He only saw a futile, stymied attempt at loitering and theft.

Mr. Collins didn’t see a merry band of prospective engineers deconstructing the machine-client interface. Rather, he perceived a misguided, ill-conceived attempt to cause damage and destruction.

As a result of their lack of imagination… their lack of humor… their lack of judiciousness… the Phase III hearing was set in motion.

But that wasn’t the worst part. As I was seated in the office with Mr. Collins, being interviewed and admonished, he advised me that he would have to call my mother, and that I would have to tell her what had happened, and that I would have to do it in the room while he was listening.

That might be when I developed a hatred for authority.

He asked me for her phone number. He called, and he said, “Mrs. Gallup, I’m here with your son. He has something that he has to tell you.” And he handed me the phone.

The Judicial System in Action

The Hearing was held a few days later. John Armitage asked a faculty member to be our representative — probably Dr. Miller, our English professor.

Dr. Miller had a sense of humor and a sense of perspective. And he had the benefit of being objective. He was able to show that the vending machine had been long abandoned. The vending machine snacks had all expired long ago. Expiration dates were more than six months prior to our late-night excursion.

I’m sure all of our stories were the same… because they were all true. We had engaged in some foolishness. We had been caught red-handed. We had done nothing with malicious intent. We were just exploring and experimenting.

So we were put on probation. We weren’t kicked out of school.

We were detained and humiliated instead.

But we tried to take a modicum of pride in our spectacular transgression and the aftermath. We faced off with the administration, and we won… sort of.

The Most Prized Piece of Documentation (after my Diploma)

Of all of the ephemera of my time at NCSSM, my Phase III letter is my most prized possession — on a par with my graduation diploma. This is what it says, in full (You be the judge):

September 29, 1981

Steven Brian Gallup

2807 Wayland Drive

Raleigh, North Carolina 27608

Dear Steve:

This letter is to officially document action taken in response to the Phase III hearing conducted with you Tuesday, September 22, 1981. The hearing was conducted because of a report by a Hill House Resident Advisor that you participated with three other students in tampering with a vending machine, as well as having unauthorized access to student mailboxes. This incident was reported to have happen [sic] Sunday, September 20, 1981 at 2:00 AM.

As a result of the hearing, confirmation of your participation was made. The Hearing Committee was made aware that the incident was more spontaneous than premeditated. However, that does not detract from the fact that your actions were thoughtless and that you assumed you had the right to do what was reported. You must reflect on your behavior. It is not consistent with the goals of the School nor what is set forth in the Student Handbook.

The Hearing Committee decided to reduce the incident to a Phase II response. Accordingly, you are to make restitution of $10.00 for your fair share of the repairs to the vending machine. Please make check payable to NCSSM Residence Life Fund and submit it to Kathy Benzaquin, Head of Residential Life. In addition, you are placed on Phase II probation until the start of the second semester. Probation will be lifted, assuming no repetition of this or similar incidents, on January 27, 1982.

You have the right to appeal this decision in writing to the School’s director, Charles Eilber. The deadline for an appeal is October 8, 1981.

Finally, I wish to point out that the Hearing Committee reviewed your disciplinary situation within a context of what is fair and right for you. Much time was given by individuals here to work through your problem with you and give you every possible consideration. We expect a positive, helpful response from you and nothing less.

Please contact me if you have any concerns about this matter.

Sincerely,

Michael E. Collins, Dean

Student Personnel Services

cc: Mrs. Margaret Gallup

My Copy of the Phase III Hearing Document

Taking a Big Risk

You would think that I had learned my lesson—that I would do what was right—“and nothing less.”

But it wasn’t much later, that I made plans to sneak over to Wyche House, the girl’s dorm, at night. Three of us were going. I was going to provide my friends with support. One of us wanted to spend time with his girlfriend, but didn’t want to go alone. I wished I had a girlfriend, and thought, “Maybe if I do this audacious thing, the girls will be impressed.” I was young and foolish… very foolish.

So we snuck over to the girls’ dorm. They aided us in this breach of “The Code” by opening the door to the basement, and let us in. They had arranged to let their RA know that they were going to have a pajama party in the basement — a cover for our trespass.

Our plan was executed to perfection. In concept it was a success. But I have never spent a more miserable night, worrying about the repercussions, should I be caught whilst still on probation. I was never happier to sneak back to my proper place at sunrise, and slip back into my dorm room bed. The relief was palpable.

In my mind this breach of protocol… this trespass… this violation was much worse — more lowly… more intentional… more foolhardy, than the laughable matter for which I had been previously reprimanded. And yet, no hand of justice came down to punish me. This time, except for my troubled sleep, no trouble came to pass.

Epilogue

I don’t know if I learned from my delinquency.

Perhaps I learned to distrust authority.

Or that justice is blind.

Or that a mother’s love is unconditional.

I never, since that time, have attempted to retrieve a packet of crackers or chips from a vending machine without a proper purchase. And so I never have completed the misdeed I had been so ingloriously tried for, in 1981.

Although I flirted with a major in Engineering, I quickly lost my excitement for the field at Vanderbilt University, where the engineering program seemed focused on computerized advancements, and human ingenuity seemed to be of little concern. I changed to a pre-medical major instead.

I tried to stay out of trouble, though I didn’t always succeed. (A few of my misdeeds are listed below, usually correlating with a bit of inebriation.*) And I tried to surround myself with people with a good sense of humor (though they are sometimes hard to find) — people with kindness, understanding, and affection.

*Addendum - A completely voluntary listing of the other times I got into trouble, which may or may not be complete.

I rarely got into trouble again, but my transition to upstanding citizen did take a little time.

-Once, I put my hand on a female freshman’s knee, at Vanderbilt, when I had had three Strawberry Margaritas- the first alcoholic drinks I’d ever had in my life. She put my hand back on my own leg where it belonged.

Once, I sideswiped a parked car when I was returning home from a party. Although I initially freaked out and fled the scene, fearing the life of a fugitive, I ended up returning and telling the police that I was responsible. They charged me with the moving violation, and got my insurance information for the car’s owner. There was no detention or hearing.

-Once I tried to ride double on a bicycle with my friend George riding on the handlebars. When I lost control, we both fell down, and I still have a little scar from the abrasion on the inside of my elbow.

-I made some questionable decisions with a Jeep on a trail between Arizona and New Mexico, and with a pet named Snickers, while throwing a tennis ball for her at a rest stop (resulting in two broken forepaws), but I consider those to be mistakes—not trouble.

Whatever you call it, I’ve “learned from each episode on the way to maturity.”