Somewhere around fourteen to fifteen years of age, we seemed to get a bit rebellious and clannish all at the same time.

We had "discovered" that, if we took bits of paper, about 1½ inches wide and about 2 inches long, and folded these bits into tight rolls, they could be ‘fired’ by rubber bands and really sting any chosen target.

Four of us lived in fairly close proximity, so several afternoons we would agree to meet at "Denno’s" yard, and fire these "slugs" at each other, while darting between the trees in his family’s backyard. The four were Peter Kemsies, Miles Fitzpatrick, yours, yours truly and ‘Denno’- to whom I must apologize. We called him ‘Deno’ and I must confess that after all these years I just cannot remember his first name.

On this particular day, Peter came by my house on Third Street, Alberttown, and was ringing his bicycle bell, so I looked out the window and told him I would not be going to ‘Denno’ today, as I had a really exciting book and wanted to read it as quickly as possible. After a bit of grumbling, Peter turned his bike around and sped off up Crown Street.

About half an hour later, I was sitting on my front steps when I saw Miles with ‘Denno’ on his bicycle bar, and Peter on his bike racing down Third Street, so I called out, "What happened?" Peter, I think it was stated that "Denno got hit in his eye by one of the slugs and we’re taking him to the hospital."

Next day at General Assembly Captain Nobbs, our Principal, announced that as a result of the accident ‘Denno’ had been blinded in one eye. He went on to announce that, effective immediately, anyone found in possession of rubber bands in school would be subject to suspension and possibly expulsion.

Our sorrow over ‘Denno’s’ loss of his eye now shared even space with our shock at this Draconian reaction from the school administration. Somewhere inside my mild-mannered self came a feeling of rebellion and I decided that I would not give up my rubber bands. I would simply keep them in my socks near my ankles, and therefore have easy access.

This action on my part was, obviously, not announced and therefore was unknown except to some friends in my class who were aware of my prowess with stated "rubber bands". The problem arose in Mr. Chung’s Art Class.

Mr. Chung was a small Chinese gentleman, who tried very hard to have these ‘wild’ crazy boys learn how to draw and additionally how to paint. The Art Room was situated in the Annex Building of the old Q.C. building on Brickdam.

He had the seating arranged in a semi-circle, with the two ends of the semi-circle, and "Chungie" sat right in the middle of the semi-circle just a short distance away from the object. We had been drawing for about thirty minutes when someone, I really cannot remember who it was said, "Arthur, give Murray a slug." He was referring to a boy who was sitting on the other side of the semi-circle, and any slugs would be fired across Mr. Chung’s line of vision. This probably made it exciting to me, so I quickly dragged up a rubber band, loaded a slug, fired off and hit Murray on the neck.

Well it seemed that Murray must have been hit on an extremely sensitive nerve. He jumped straight up and started wailing "Those boys over there shot me." It was a scene that energized Mr. Chung who ran over to our side and demanded, "Who shot Murray?" I was quickly told by my group of friends "Don’t admit to anything. We’ll handle Chungie."

First boy up on our side was Michael Branka, who asked Mr. Chung, "Do you know that Murray fires slugs over here?" Mr. Chung rushed back over to Murray: "You’re complaining about being shot when you have been shooting slugs over there!" To which Murray in tears responded, "That’s not true, I’ve never fired at them." So back to us came Mr. Chung. "Okay, I’ll give you boys until 2:30 p.m. to confess: after that you’ll all go to the Principal." He than went back to his desk and sat down.

The class was of course, in an uproar and everyone was talking at once; some laughing, some betting on who the villain was. I was of course, quiet but very concerned. Having done the act my thoughts were firmly on the consequences. I told my friends that I should confess and get it over with. The boys insisted that I should do no such thing. They felt they could win over Mr. Chung, and proceeded to "massage" him for the following fifteen minutes, after which he came back to us and said, "Now look here! I’m going to give you boys a chance, but if anything like this happens again, you will go straight to Mr. Nobbs."

Throughout all this time my mind was possessed by the problem. "How will I be able to explain to my Mother that I was suspended or expelled from Q.C. over such an act?" She was a formidable lady and I must admit, that she never heard of this incident until around 1969, by which time I had sponsored her to come to Canada and she was living here. On being told she looked at me and said, "Boy I always thought you had a bit of madness in your system, I trust you have outgrown it."

Anyone reading this who knows where Dennison is and what is his first name, please contact me. I would love to see him again. I have not seen him since 1952.

Written by Arthur Henery