There were lots of good things about having a well known father, and a few bad. Dad was the assistant principle at Mesa High School for most of my growing up years. In a small city that meant most of the people I came in contact with during my school years knew, respected, and liked my father. This filtered down to me, and I think I was treated better than other kids with anonymous parents. I've remembered this all my life, and tried to do what I could to have my kids teachers know and respect me, hoping it would also make their school years easier.
Dad used to take us with him to the school football games in the fall. For years he was in charge of school activities, so he needed to be there. He would take Keith and Phillip and Linda and I, settle us in on the bleachers, then roam around the field, coming back to check on us once in a while. When we were lucky dad would even splurge and buy us a couple of root beer to share. It was so much fun to sit in the bleachers, drinking our pop and listening to the band play. I didn't actually watch the game very often, but it sure was fun to watch the cheerleaders and the people. It's against our religion to smoke, and I never knew anyone who did, but I sure did like the smell of cigarette smoke in the cool evening air at those games. It's funny how good that smelled, but how nasty cigarette smoke is when you are close to someone who is smoking, or the smell of stale cigarette smoke in a hotel room or car. Perhaps it's because it was such a faint smell when we were outside, or maybe it's just the happy memories it evokes.
Sometimes Dad would take us to basketball games at the old Jack Rabbit Gym. I can still remember the high pitched squeak, squeak of tennis shoes running across the polished wood floor, and the laughter and music of the band. After those games there was always a dance, and dad would make sure things were set up first before running us quickly home so he could get back to supervise. I was always proud of dad when we were at school functions. Dad stopped to talk to everyone, which sometimes got pretty boring when we were waiting for him to take us home, but he was so popular it made me feel like someone special, because he was my father.
Not everyone at the high school liked dad, though. Perhaps because he was so nice and easy to get along with he was given the job of being in charge of school discipline for many years. This meant that whenever a student got in trouble dad had to sort it out. Invariably, there were some students who blamed dad for their problems.
One Friday night dad took Keith and Phillip on a Father's and Sons outing up to the mountains. Mom and us girls were left home by ourselves. It was about 10:00 when all of a sudden there was a terrific explosion in the front room. It scared us all silly, of course, and Mom ran to see what had happened. We had a mail slot next to our front door where the mail man pushed our letters through. Someone had snuck up to our house and dropped a cherry bomb through the slot. It exploded on the floor of our entryway, making a mess but not really damaging anything, thank goodness. It turned out one of the kids dad had disciplined was so angry he wanted to get revenge. Mom got a phone call from this boys father later that night, calling to see if we were OK and assuring her that his son was going to be punished. Shes sure felt sorry for that boy after talking to his dad, and could almost understand why he got into so much trouble.
Years later Dad met that boy again. He had grown into a fine young man, who apologized over and over for being such a knot head. I like to think maybe the way dad dealt with him had something to do with his turning out OK. In fact, dad made a difference for a lot of kids. It was always fun to meet people who went to Mesa High and have them find out who my father was. You could tell by the look on their face if they were the kids who knew dad from the activities or from being sent to his office.
When dad built our double house in Gilbert and we moved into the new ward I stopped by our new Bishop's office to introduce myself the first Sunday. Mom and Dad weren't there yet, so I told Bishop Price about them. He got a funny look on his face, then asked, "Is your dad the Ralph Russell who used to be assistant principal at Mesa High School?"
I told him yes, and then he grinned this great big grin. "Oh boy," he said. "After all these years, now I get to sit on this side of the desk and he'll have to listen to me!" Apparently he had spent more than a few occasions in dad's office back when he was in high school.
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