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Lucky Shoes
Ray Millholland
Copyright © 1956, by Sarah E. Millholland
Chapter 1
Andy Carter walked slowly out of the principal’s office at Riverford High School with his class assignment card for the fall semester in his hand. In spite of the fact that it was a beautiful September day and the corridor was filled with familiar faces of classmates smiling and calling out to him as they scurried past, Andy had that “Oh, me!” feeling inside.
And all because of the change that Mr. McCall, the principal, had just made on his assignment card! This was one of those mix-ups that left a fellow helpless to do anything about it. In fact, Mr. McCall, who had charge of smoothing out conflicts in assignments, had shown Andy that even he was not able to repair the damage.
The whole thing had started back in June, at the end of Andy’s junior year, when he definitely decided that he was going on to college and study engineering. He had talked the matter over with Mr. Stark, the shop and mechanical drawing teacher, and Mr. Stark had told him that, by all means, he should take machine shop in his senior year.
Andy took another look at the changes on his assignment card and groaned—out loud this time, “Oh, my aching arches!”
Right on top of that Andy got a hard poke in the ribs from another member of the senior class, Ted Hall. Ted always wore two things—a pair of spectacles with thick lenses and a brisk but friendly smile for everybody.
Ted said, “If you need a doctor, I’m your man. I’ve been taping football ankles and rubbing linament on Charley horses so long that I think I could take out your appendix if you were game enough to trust me. Stick out your tongue and say ‘Ah!’ ”
But not even the teasing of the football team’s student manager could make Andy smile just then. He handed Ted his assignment card and said, “Operate on this if you’re that good a doctor. They’ve just switched my machine shop class from the first and second periods to the seventh and eighth. That means I don’t get out of class until three-thirty, and football practice starts at two-thirty.”
Andy did not have to tell Ted what that meant. Both of them had received a copy of the same letter which the new coach, Mr. Dorman, had sent to members of last year’s football squad, including the freshmen, who would now be sophomores and eligible to win places on the varsity.
“To all boys intending to turn out for football this fall,” Coach Dorman’s letter began. “This is a get-acquainted letter. I have been appointed your new coach, so naturally you are wondering what sort of a person I am.
“Since I come from another state and there is no one at Riverford High who knows me, I will tell you what sort of a person I try to be. No one, of course, knows exactly what sort of person he really is, but I hope that by the end of the football season you will have decided that, considering everything, I’m not such a bad guy, after all.
“Now let’s start from there. In the first place, every boy who takes care to arrange his schedule so that he can report regularly every day for practice, immediately after two-thirty, and gives his level best, is going to get all the help toward winning his varsity letter that I can give him.
“Next, I have no favorites. Everybody starts with a clean slate for this season. Any boy who was a star last year and thinks he can win a place on the varsity this year without giving his best, every minute of practice every day, is sure to find that some other fellow—a plugger—is in the starting line-up while he warms the substitute bench.
“Although I teach the same system used by your former loved coach, Mr. Skiles, I do not promise we will win the conference championship this year or even next. This may be a disappointment to you juniors and seniors, but I hope you will put just that much more ‘try’ into your practice and actual game playing.
“This letter is long enough for the time being. We will get better acquainted as the season progresses. Remember—if we take the measure of that hard-cracking Mansfield High team in the last game of the season, it won’t be such a bad year, after all!
“With best personal wishes,
“JOHN DORMAN,
“Coach.”
At the time Andy Carter received his copy of the new coach’s letter he felt sure that Mr. Dorman was a real straight-talking square shooter. And right up to the time Mr. McCall, the principal, had told him about the changes in his study hours, Andy had been confident that he was at last going to win his varsity football letter, for sure, in his senior year.
But all that was changed now. Right there, in black and white, in the new coach’s letter was fair warning, that only those boys who reported for practice every day at the beginning of the seventh class hour would have the ghost of a chance to make the first-string varsity!
Ted Hall seemed to have the same idea, too. He took one look at Andy’s assignment schedule—saw that Andy would be in a machine shop class during the seventh and eighth periods—and said, “This is what needs an emergency operation, not you. See Mr. Stark right away and get him to switch you to his morning machine shop class.”
Andy shook his head. “I’m signed up for College Algebra. Only twelve seniors are taking that course, so I can’t juggle my schedule and get into a morning machine shop class.” Slowly he took back his schedule from his friend Ted Hall. “I’m sunk—no varsity letter for me.”
“Don’t start looking for a crying towel yet,” said Ted briskly. He gave Andy a steady look through the thick lenses of his eyeglasses. “You’ll have enough credits to graduate next June even if you drop machine shop entirely.”
Again Andy shook his head, but not quite so positively this time. “Everybody, including my father, Mr. McCall, and Mr. Stark, says I should take machine shop if I plan to study engineering in college.”
The bell for the next class hour began ringing. Ted Hall gave Andy an encouraging thump on the chest with the back of his hand and said, “Keep your chin off your belt buckle, old horse. You’ve got until Wednesday to decide about dropping machine shop. Don’t do anything foolish before then.” As Ted hurried off he flung a wink back over his shoulder. “See you for football practice tonight. I got a swell new pair of shoes saved out for you!”
Class periods on the opening day of the fall semester at Riverford High were shorter than usual. There was just time enough for the teacher to take down the names of the pupils and announce the textbook which would be used. Then the bell would ring and the corridors would be filled again with pupils hurrying to their next class.
Coach Dorman had taken advantage of these short class periods on opening day to issue a call to all football candidates to report to the gymnasium locker room at one-thirty, when practice uniforms would be issued.
By the time Andy got out of his short machine shop class, most of the other seniors were already in the locker room. They knew from experience how important it was to get there early so that they could get a good pair of shoes—the most important thing—that fitted their feet, as well as first pick of pants, jerseys, and shoulder pads.
Immediately Andy went to the shoe bin and started hunting for a pair of shoes that would fit him. The shoes had become all mixed up by then.
